


Iron Fists

by ellewrites, Miss_Murdered



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: M/M, Sex, bad language, physical violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-16
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-20 09:21:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 64,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/885601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellewrites/pseuds/ellewrites, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Murdered/pseuds/Miss_Murdered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the world of illegal cage fighting there are no rules and only the strongest survive. It is a world that Duo has been undercover in for over a year and when the Preventers fear he may have gone rogue unexpected back up arrives... 1x2x1</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pairings/Warnings: 1x2x1, post EW, physical violence, m/m sexual relations, cursing, you know – the typical angsty stuff!
> 
> Author's Notes: Miss Murdered mentioned this little inkling to ELLE one day and several weeks later after ELLE's desire to get into a fight peeked, ELLE asked if they might team up and write some delicious, sexy fight scenes. All Duo's chapters are Miss Murdered's, all Heero's are ELLE's. Enjoy!
> 
> (And since ELLE pestered Miss Murdered, she got to name the fic after a Coheed and Cambria song as that's how she rolls…)
> 
> Disclaimer: If Gundam Wing was ours, there'd be ONE damned cannon kiss. All for fun, fun for all! :D

The place was packed, the air ventilation system inadequate, and heat permeated the place. A film of condensation gathered on the ceiling and dripped down the walls from the mass of bodies jammed into the small amphitheatre.

Those who had never visited the place didn't know the heat. Didn't know how packed it was on a Saturday night as the drifters and smugglers and criminals all converged on the old, disused colony in the L3 cluster as the first rounds of fights begun.

The first rounds were never much interest for the hardened gambler or spectator but it was important to gauge the crowd and see the level of enthusiasm for the sport. Blue eyes scanned the crowd as a young braided man made his way through the predominately male crowd, sliding through people carefully and avoiding contact with the sweaty bodies around him as much as possible. Duo knew these guys and was careful not to knock over people's drinks or get in the way of the action but he kept an eye out for any sign of trouble.

He only wanted to watch one particular fight. Wade was young and so out of place in the criminal heart of the L3 colony cluster, but he was determined. Wanted to fight. As the young man entered the cage, the crowd started making noises of disbelief at the newcomer – the gasps and jeers suggested just what the patrons thought his chances were.

He'd told the kid plenty of times to get out – find the first crooked captain willing to take him off this shit hole for a blowjob and go back to Farmville USA or wherever the fuck he was from. The kid kept saying no – kept turning up at the gym in the morning, kept getting his ass kicked by not only Duo but any sparring partner he could find. It seemed a pointless exercise but then the fight was early on in the night's line-up, a little warm up for the bigger events and maybe, finally, getting the living shit beat out of him in the cage would be enough for the little farm boy to get out before he got himself killed.

As Wade looked around at the crowd through the mesh, Duo thought about the first time he'd met him – yet another fighter in the long ass line of shitty rookies who'd end up pummelled. The gym had been empty as it was damn early but Duo preferred to be the only one in the gym and made sure he was there before the fighters surfaced. He'd only turned on enough lighting to walk through the gym without tripping over any equipment to reach a punching bag hanging from the ceiling.

His hands and wrists were wrapped carefully. Maybe he didn't fight in the cages anymore – did his stint when he first arrived – but he still trained and he still felt like his knuckles were never quite healed from the punches across jaws and the indents of opponents teeth. He trained because there was little else to do on this godforsaken colony apart from sleeping and hanging around and waiting for Kerrigan's plans to become apparent, to accept him into his inner circle.

Duo unzipped his grey hoodie and threw it down to the floor leaving his chest bare. He knew he was in better shape than he'd ever been – definition to him that hadn't been there in his teens, strong pectoral muscles, arms that he now wondered whether he could bend damn steel with. He was paler than he'd been since he was a Sweeper living aboard shuttles in the dead of space. His skin tone had returned to its old pallor, the tan of the years on earth fading on a colony without even a hint of artificial sunlight. The colony had never been intended as a permanent residence. It had been built for accommodation between mining satellites for workers and never had any of the upgrades a living, working colony had. It didn't attempt to recreate the earth like later designs and models – it was all very utilitarian and grey. Impersonal and harshly lit.

When a colony made the slums of the L2 look like a pretty nice place – it made Duo realise he was in the fucking ass end of the earthsphere.

He took a glug of the water bottle he was carrying before setting it down on the floor and brought out a small music device, putting the little white buds into his ear and clipping the device to the waistband of his shorts, cables trailing down his chest. He turned the music up loud, the blaring of some old pre-colony band in his ears. He'd always hated fucking silence – he'd played similar stuff in the cockpit of Deathscythe – heard the others bitch at him for his sometimes incomprehensible responses to transmissions over the comm channels due to the volume. It was easier that way. Always had been. The sounds of battle and violence drowned out. Created a sense of detachment.

Duo began with an easy rhythm, right hook, left hook, return fists to a blocking position before repeating, gradually building up force to make the bag swing back and forth, pendulum like.

It wasn't anything like the cages. There was the feel of flesh and bone, not the soft leather of the bag, there were no rules to the cages and there was no protection. Boxing was the sport of kings or something – remembered hearing that but that was boxing with gloves and helmets. Cage fighting was the damn opposite – the sport of the poor and the desperate willing to spill blood, knock teeth out and break bones for a fee. The only rule was to beat the shit out of each other. Use whatever method. The fights were made worse on weapons nights – when pipes and crowbars and blades were thrown in for added spice. A little extra blood pads, only to be wiped away later – the memory of some damned stupid sucker right along with it.

It had been fun, those first few fights – letting loose like he'd not done since he was behind the controls of his Gundam. Played up to the crowd, knew what they thought when he stepped in – kind of scrawny still, muscled but not like his opponent, the braid making them think he was some bitch. Heard the catcalls and wolf whistles. Only smirked as he slammed an elbow into the 6'4" guys face and had broken his nose within thirty seconds. Sure as hell got him noticed. By the crowd, by the bookies, by the goons hired to keep the punters in line and most of all by Kerrigan who ran this whole operation.

Duo knew his fighting style had little flair. Knew his forte was more in speed than brute strength even with the training he'd done before arriving at the colony. Even with Wufei offering him martial arts training as he was the only one with enough _damn_ patience to teach him fighting techniques – knew Heero didn't have the patience to teach him and would've just descended into them arguing. Or fucking. Both were not reasonable behaviour in the Preventer gym. Still, he'd been good enough to become a favourite. A few headliner fights. And it suited him. No rules. No fancy style. Just all out brawling – the sort he'd learnt on the streets.

It didn't last but it got him noticed. Got him where he needed to be when Kerrigan's goons had beaten to death one of the crew in front of his eyes and given him the opportunity to find a place in the organisation. One thing criminals always wanted to make sure of is that no one talked and giving Duo a place outside of the cages and working with new fighters meant he was now one of them. And he wouldn't say shit about the last guy who got beaten to death for trying to take a little too much off the betting money.

Duo swung his fists harder against the punching bag, blow connecting with more force, more speed, undercuts, gut punches – used those in the cage as he _knew_ how breathless that had made him – sped up, moving his feet, bouncing on the balls of them, striking hard and fast. Thinking like he was still fighting in the cage, using his speed, tiring them out, ducking and dodging and aiming well timed blows.

Sweat dropped down his body, rivulets making their way down chest and back, a single droplet descending from underneath the braid and trailing down shoulder blades and back, past old and new scars, tattoos and down to where shorts hung low on his hips, absorbing into them.

His breathing became heavier, punching out on the exhale, faster, harder, the music in his ears creating a fast beat that he replicated with his body. Faster. Faster.

The indication that he was no longer alone came when the harsh strip lighting snapped on and the entire gym flooded with bright glaring light. He removed the ear buds, letting them trail down to the floor and leaned over to grab his water bottle, taking a deep swallow, allowing some water to trail down his throat to mix with the sweat on his heaving chest. He put it back down and glared in the direction of the newcomers. His personal gym sessions were never disturbed. He hadn't even jumped any rope or done any weights.

"Duo – fresh meat!"

He could see that as the two men approached. The old guy spoke – he went by the name of Jim but that sure as hell wasn't his name, just as hardly anyone used real names in this place. Duo used his own name as it had never truly existed. No birth certificates or documents and then after the war, his data had been officially scrubbed out of any records to avoid any repercussions for the war time actions of a minor. All the Gundam pilots had their identities and pasts sealed – they were no heroes and the only thing that was recorded in the history books was the hulking machines they piloted, not the boys who manned them.

Jim seemed a decent guy doing a very fucked up job. He patched up the fighters before and after the bouts – he was an ex-Alliance field doctor who'd spent his life patching up the worst kind of wounds. Duo got him talking once – patching up a large gash from a knife fight – and Jim sure had some grim stories. Stories of exploding heads in space and missing limbs and men alive on battlefields with parts of mobile suits through them. Logically, Duo knew the damage he'd done during the war but he'd always hoped that people just _fucking_ died – he'd never really thought about those he left just barely alive. He was the God of Death, after all, not the God of the Seriously Wounded. Poor assholes.

The kid standing next to Jim was just that – a damn kid. No older than nineteen, so he figured. Duo supposed he wasn't that much older – twenty-three was not that damn old but having never had a childhood and spending his teenage years blowing shit up – he'd always felt older than his actual years. The kid looked so fresh it hurt. Usually the sort of fighters that came looking for a few bouts were at least criminal looking – ex-soldier types or at least smugglers or something. He looked like a farm boy.

Duo gave him one look.

"Fuck no."

He turned and grabbed the hoodie, putting it on but not zipping it up, leaving his chest exposed. He didn't pay attention to Jim's words – already decided he was _not_ going to train a kid who wouldn't last one bout – and instead wrapped the headphone cable around the music device before putting it in his pocket.

"Just give the kid a chance – played some football or somethin'. Got kicked outta school. Might got some potential."

Duo laughed harshly. "Yeah, well, shit, that must make you totally badass or something. Wow. Getting kicked outta school. Fuck, I think I went to school for a total of one week, kid."

The kid knew he was being mocked but met Duo's eye defiantly.

"I can fight."

"Okay. Show me."

He didn't move, unsure of what Duo just said. He eyed him cautiously but Jim had stepped back, knowing what was about to happen.

"Don't just stare at me, kid. Hit me."

There was a pause as the words sunk in and then there was a punch thrown. Duo stopped the fist, using the momentum of the other body to throw the kid off balance, a quick kick out making the boy fall to floor in a heap of limbs. Duo offered his hand to let the kid get to his feet which he took with wounded pride and a look of humiliation.

"That your best shot?"

"You didn't follow the rules. You don't use your feet."

"You are so fucking kidding me – have you watched cage fighting?" Duo chuckled at the kid's pout. "Rule number one – no rules. Got me?"

He nodded.

"You got a name, kid?"

"Wade."

"Now, _Wade,_ take my damn advice. You walk outta here. You find a shuttle to get you off this hunk of metal and you don't come back. You'll get killed here."

Wade didn't take his advice. Kid was stubborn. Maybe it was an admirable trait but then it led to this. Duo walked up stairs past the other members of Kerrigan's crew to the VIP area that allowed a vantage point of the fight from above. They nodded at him knowing this was one he'd trained from scratch and they looked ready to provide some sympathy. Everyone seemed to agree that Wade was going to be beaten within an inch of his life. He'd seen Jim near the door to the cage, ready as always to take the bloody fighters to the back room for a patch up. He could hear a few noises from the crowd, a few gasps, a few damn cheers and he suspected that the kid was already fucked. It was an early fight in the night. It didn't need to last long – just needed to get people drinking and betting and losing their inhibitions.

The VIP area was quiet – the bar was better – carrying more than piss water cheap beer and watered down spirits and only a few of Kerrigan's crew were around. No Kerrigan. He wanted to ask where he was but then it was early. Kerrigan only tended to watch the headliners – too busy with other shit until that point.

Duo walked over to the bar, one of the goons leaning against it and glancing down towards the cage.

"Fresh meat to the slaughter."

"Ain't it always?" Duo said, wearily.

The bartender didn't bother asking for his drink order, just poured a whisky and pushed it over – Duo was tempted to drink it in one swallow and ask for another but he always had to be too damn cautious here. Like any place he was undercover. One slip up and boom! – months of work down the drain and only a short time frame to get out the hell outta dodge. He walked away from the bar to the edge of the balcony to see the action.

It was an unfair match up. Wade wasn't built enough for his opponent. He was already bloody and Duo could see the red clock counting down the first three minute round – 54 seconds to go – he'd make it, maybe, but he wasn't going to survive round two. Sure as hell knew that.

He took a sip and saw another fist make contact in Wade's stomach.

"Block, kid, fuck it."

Wade hadn't listened to shit – or maybe it was the whole thing that he trained in a gym with Duo and that was totally different to a cage in front of a crowd baying for blood – his blood – and now they were getting it as a punch went across the kid's face and teeth and blood followed from split lips. Duo downed the rest of his drink and slammed the glass down with enough force to break it before making his way to the floor and pushing his way through the throng of spectators to get to Jim. There was a second of silence as he walked through them and that was always the worst thing sound you couldn't hear in the amphitheatre. The moment of silence. The collective gasp. The knowledge that one of the fighters is close to being totally fucked.

Blue eyes couldn't see due to the amount of people blocking the view but he didn't need to know as a siren blared and that signified end of the bout.

"Win by knockout," came the announcement over the PA system.

A few cheers, some shouting, some swearing at the kid on the floor from those gamblers who liked long odds and couldn't resist the idea of winning that much money.

Duo pushed through enough to get to door of the cage and see that Jim and another of Kerrigan's boys was holding the limp form of an unconscious fighter as the other paraded for the crowd – acted up and got a few cheers. As they came out with Wade's prone and bleeding body, Duo gestured towards the other member of the crew who relinquished his hold and let Duo help move the kid out of the cage and towards the medical room.

He was alive. That was good. Duo had thought it was possible that he wasn't but he was in bad shape – split lips, broken nose, his wrist looked… odd, held at an angle that didn't look quite natural and there was already the signs of harsh bruising colouring his chest.

"Should've listened, kiddo," he said ruefully.

Wade sure couldn't hear nor could Jim above the sound of the crowd but he supposed he wasn't talking to them. Just talking.

They laid him out on the old gurney that every fighter in this place had done time on and Wade made a noise, which was a relief. Suggested that perhaps he wasn't as badly hurt as Duo first feared.

"What ya think?"

Jim didn't answer straight away and Duo stepped back away from the kid to lean against the wall and let the doctor work. He watched and heard the noise of the crowd from outside their little room as the next fighters reached the cage – the usual fanfare and announcement to raise anticipation levels. The crowd hoping for a longer fight and more blood.

"He'll live."

He let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding – he wanted the kid to realise that he wasn't cut out for the fights but this had been a more brutal introduction than Duo had intended. Of course, Duo didn't pick who fought who. Kerrigan did. Probably wanted the first fight to be a blood bath. He knew Kerrigan had a thing for watching near death fights and that was one of the reasons he was still on this damn colony watching this shit.

Those rumours. The fights to the death. The exclusive guest list. The 25 year old scotch and Cristal brigade. The only reason he was still on this shit hole and not back on earth with Heero who would probably still be pissed about him taking another long term undercover op – but least he'd get laid and try to use his touch as a weapon to placate him.

Frustrated, Duo ran fingers through his bangs and watched Jim work, removing blood with cotton swabs and water and anti-bacterial shit that stung like a bitch. Wade made a few noises. Stitches would be next.

Another loud cheer from outside the room. Another fight coming to an end. Another fighter probably needing patched up.

A knock on the door distracted Duo from his depressing thoughts as he watched Wade getting patched up. He opened it to see Wallis, one of Kerrigan's right hand men.

"Kerrigan wants to see you."

He thought for a second about saying that he wanted to stay with the kid, see how he was when he came round, but he knew he couldn't say "fuck no" to Kerrigan. Not if he didn't want a beating and he seriously didn't – he didn't want to be on the damn gurney bleeding like Wade was.

"Look after the kid."

"Always do," Jim replied as he began stitching.

Kerrigan's office was not somewhere Duo went regularly. Hell, he wasn't sure if Kerrigan liked him or trusted him – probably didn't as men who got their own criminal empire tended not to be the most trusting. He was led there by Wallis. The burly guy was a long-term member of Kerrigan's crew and had been part of the team that beat the last guy to death. He indicated to the door and Duo knocked and opened it to see Kerrigan behind his desk, his scarred and bearded face looking up at him as he entered.

"Duo… we have a new fighter I want you to work with."

It was only as he stepped entirely into the small office and closed the door that he saw the other man. The office was no bigger than a broom closet and that meant the door had obscured the man who stood leaning against the wall.

Duo had spent enough time undercover that his face didn't give anything away. His pulse had quickened and his pupils had dilated but there was no expression as his eyes met the cold blue eyes of his long-time lover.

Heero.

Fuck.


	2. Chapter 2

Heero's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he took in the man he hadn't seen for over a year. At least, an outside observer would view it as suspicion, but Duo might know. Might. If he could even remember.

Bitterness. Heero reprimanded himself mentally. He hated that feeling of bitterness that wormed its way into his heart and festered away like so many maggots, consuming the dead flesh, leaving the tiny bit of good raw and painful.

He studied him for any signs of injury, mental instability, fear. Other than the minute, tale-tail signs of recognition Duo couldn't help but display – indistinguishable to anyone other than Heero, possibly the other three – and muscle, a _lot_ more muscle, Duo appeared to be fine. Perhaps a bit pissed, maybe even nervous, but fine. Hardly worth Une's worry.

"He's been out there for over a year," she'd said, the quiver of her disobeying upper lip revealing her concern. Heero wondered why she felt it necessary to tell him that. It wasn't as if he hadn't felt every single one of the 392 days Duo was absent far more acutely than any other person this side of the solar system.

"You don't need to worry about him." The response was automatic. Easy. Because god _fucking_ forbid Duo came back hurt. Or dead. Worse if dead. He made sure Duo knew with the certainty that the sun would rise tomorrow and the moon would orbit the Earth that Heero would put a bullet in his own head just to find him, wrangle him from the grip of the devil, and beat the fuck out of his non-corporeal form for leaving him.

Duo was always running. Always hiding. But fuck if there was anywhere Heero couldn't follow him.

"You've seen his file," Une stated. No, he wasn't supposed to have seen his file but yes, he had seen the clinical descriptions used to describe his lover's ... unique and trying personality. He knew they only let him in so that he wouldn't cause more trouble elsewhere. Knew they thought he was a terrorist at heart and that he was a ticking time bomb and that one day he was going to snap and that they would have to take him down.

Heero knew better – knew Duo wouldn't be the one that snapped. Duo had shit he cared about. Children and puppies and rainbows and shit. All that shit could make him smile. _Genuinely_ smile.

Heero only had one thing.

"He didn't go rouge." It was definite. No room for argument.

"Well, if he didn't, then it could be worse." Just come right out and say it, Heero wanted to growl. Why Une pussy-footed around the issue was beyond him. He wasn't the kind of agent that needed coddling and special care. If Duo was hurt, Heero'd make sure Duo felt it. His heart wouldn't shatter into a million tiny slivers and his eyes wouldn't gush the goddamned Niagara Falls at her. That wasn't him.

"I told you," he snapped dismissively, "you don't need to worry about him."

The bewilderment on Une's face would've made Duo laugh. He could almost hear the laughter, rough and deep and _so_ _damned sexy_. It was a sound Heero hadn't heard for most of his life – not until he met Duo. Not like that. So unlike his own cruel, maniacal cackle.

He was sure Une didn't understand. Shouldn't he be worried? Their relationship wasn't a secret among Preventers HQ, certainly wasn't a secret from Une – she had one of those little consent agreements with his signature practically ripped through the paper somewhere in that filing cabinet behind her. Maybe she thought it was the time apart, that this was the last straw in a string of long-term undercovers and Heero was through, that he was too distanced from Duo to feel anything, anymore. Well sure, Heero was pissed. And sure the distance damn well didn't help their already dysfunctional as fuck relationship – that was a given. But that wasn't it at all. It's just... That wasn't _them_. If he doubted Duo, doubted his ability, doubted that he was safe – then he sure as hell didn't love him.

He never doubted Duo. And he wasn't about to start now just because Une did.

But he failed to convince her and she sent him packing as back up. She didn't want to send him. Something about that consent form, his inability to be objective. Heero wondered about that when only moments before she was questioning how he could be so objective. Maybe she didn't see his lack of concern as objectivity. Maybe she did see it for the blind faith it was. But either way it didn't matter. Heero was the only agent besides Wufei with enough knowledge of hand-to-hand combat to hold his own. And Wufei was fast tracking it up the corporate ladder so he couldn't be spared.

And that was the story of how he became Duo's knight in shining armour – better know as the thorn in his fucking side.

He watched as Duo's jaw clenched and he guessed Duo was figuring out just what he was going to say to Kerrigan. But Heero decided to relieve him of the decision.

"I don't need to 'work' with anyone."

Fuck if that didn't piss Duo off even more than just seeing him in that office in the first place did. His eyes were flashing hot with anger but buried deep down in there Heero thought he saw worry and he felt the quiet beginnings of his own anger building inside of him. He didn't doubt Duo. Duo didn't doubt him. Duo didn't _fucking_ doubt him. Not after everything they'd been through.

Kerrigan was laughing. It sure wasn't a nice laugh. Duo shifted to face his boss.

"Where'd ya find this scrawny piece of shit?" His words were harsh. Mean. Only adding to Kerrigan's amusement.

"A friend who has my best interests at heart," Kerrigan replied with a wicked smile. Duo crossed his arms over his chest and eyed Heero warily. He didn't know who Kerrigan meant, but Heero knew he meant Millardo – even if he thought the label 'friend' a bit too intimate and presumptuous. It became immediately apparent however that they sent him in too soon. Duo didn't have enough intel. He couldn't extract him yet. Fuck if he wasn't going to have to stay in this shit hole with Duo and try not to compromise him for god knows how long. And fuck if they sent another goddamned person into this mess while they were working this thing he would bring the fucking walls down around Une's head when he got back.

"You need to stop dumping this shit on me and let _me_ recruit some worthwhile candidates," Duo grumbled under his breath, jerking his head towards the door. But Heero stayed rooted where he was, cold eyes watching Duo dispassionately.

"I don't need to train," Heero reiterated, looking straight at Kerrigan.

"Maybe we ought to put him in tonight, if he's so insistent..." Kerrigan mused and Heero paused. They both were looking at him. When Duo spoke, his voice sounded damn near petulant.

"I just hadda watch Wade get the shit knocked outta him and now you're gonna fuck up the schedules for this guy's massacre?" He hauled his thumb in Heero's direction. Heero gave no reaction although that fire building within him was pretty intense at this point. He was aware Duo was playing Kerrigan, but the thought that even a tiny piece of Duo doubted him made him want to fight the whole damn board just to prove himself.

"I am assured he held his own on Earth," Kerrigan smoothly fought Duo's reluctance. Not that Duo really had any say in the end but obviously Kerrigan had a certain level of respect for him and took his opinion under advisement to some degree.

"Earth ain't here," was the last peevish protest he could muster before he accepted his defeat.

Kerrigan picked up a tablet and scanned through it a moment. "Maybe we bump LaFlare and put him in."

"And pit him against Aziz?" Duo's shock was a bit disconcerting from Heero's perspective. "The Awful A-rab?" He drew the first 'a' out long, like a title. "Ya want your new pet _slaughtered_?"

Okay, that was just about all Heero could take. The tension of not seeing him and finally they were face to face and his _damn_ mouth, running off all the _damn_ time, expecting Heero to just take it when he was the one running off and leaving him – !

The fire within him grew to a fevered pitch and before either of them realized it he had Duo pinned to the wall by his throat, one hand closed over his windpipe uncomfortably tight, the other twisted around his braid, jerking his head upward. One leg was pressed against his, his ankle hooked around Duo's, ready to bring him to the floor in an instant. Duo didn't even bother to bring his hands up to attempt to dislodge Heero's iron grip – even if he could, as soon as he flinched he'd be on the ground.

"I'm _no one's_ pet." The warning was clear and simple. He wasn't talking about Kerrigan.

Kerrigan's slow clap filled the room and Heero released his captive, keeping himself safe from any retaliation.

Knowing he lost, Duo simply scowled. "Well, the bookies won't be bitchin' to me."

Kerrigan started tapping on his tablet, clearly dismissing them, and Heero grabbed his duffle and followed Duo out into the crowd.

"Don't know what the fuck you're doing here, buddy, but this ain't a real good situation." Duo was muttering so low Heero had to strain to hear over the shouts and jeers of the crowd. "Aziz is a big ass dude. He's got a great win-rate, was favoured for that match. But he's heavy handed, not fast, prefers to stay in one place if he can –"

Heero grabbed his wrist and Duo turned to face him, something like desperation on his face. Maybe it was unfair to be so angry with him, at least about that. Maybe Duo just didn't want their reunion after over a year apart to involve another sweaty man with his hands on him. He felt that was probably wishful thinking, but it was an easier pill to swallow than the idea that Duo doubted him.

"It's fine." He tried to express something in his eyes – his longing, an apology – but even he knew his eyes were mostly expressionless. Duo just sighed and shook his head, leading him back into a locker room.

Duo stood off to the side as he dressed, wearing nothing but spandex shorts and wrist wraps. He preferred to have nothing on that could be grabbed and used against him. Especially if they were fighting dirty. Duo always sparred in baggy shorts – and that damn hair – stupid, unnecessary risks.

When Heero glanced back to him to indicate he was ready, Duo lead him through a maze of short halls to a sort of staging area.

"He can't change this shit last minute, I don't even know who the fuck this guy is!" The angry shouts were heard before they walked in and now that they were face-to-face Heero was surprised at the short stature of the heavy, flushed and fuming organizer. Duo indicated Heero was to stay back and he walked up to the distraught man. They exchanged some low, heated words but it looked more like they were venting their anger at Kerrigan rather than each other. Heero saw fingers pointing in his direction and the short man threw his hands in the air as if invoking some god and then began furiously tapping on a similar tablet to the one Kerrigan had in his office.

Heero took the opportunity to scan some of the other fighters, waiting, restless. He began sizing them up based on the way they held their weight, what they wore, where their weaknesses and strengths lie. He made guesses as to their degree of experience based on the nervous tics, the false bravado, the quiet contemplation. But he didn't see anyone that looked like they deserved the title 'The Awful Arab.' He figured there had to be another ready room somewhere that perhaps the other half of the opponents waited in. But he wasn't left wondering long before Duo came back to him and was leading him to the ring.

He spared a confident glance for Duo before he kicked off his shoes and slid into the mesh cage. The rubber was sticky under his feet and smelled vaguely of disinfectant. Bare feet could be a liability on a slick mat, but he tended to use it to his advantage if he needed to slip around a large opponent. Just had to be aware of where the sweat fell. Speaking of sweat, the whole place stank of it and he found the humidity of dense humanity nearly suffocating. Not for the first time did he curse Une to the seventh circle of hell for sending him out here. This was not his element. That's why this was _Duo's_ fucking assignment.

And then his opponent walked out. The Awful Arab was a relatively kind title for the ugly man. He had about a foot and a half on Heero and at least a hundred and fifty pounds, probably two hundred. His face was a dark, ugly mash of features, his nose looking as if it had been broken more than a few times. He gave a relatively stupid looking smile that Heero supposed was meant to be intimidating considering the missing teeth. But Heero wasn't intimidated. He noted a slight limp, the way he favoured his right knee just a touch. The slow, deliberate movements. The way his fat, sausage fingers struggled to make a tight fist.

Then the bell rang and a cheer went up from the crowd. Heero shifted his weight and circled towards him, just out of range of his hands. Duo said he was heavy handed. Despite Heero's genetically modified strength, he knew taking him down with punches and kicks to the torso or hips wasn't going to work. He was going to have to go for the knees or the face. The knees put him in range of the hands, unless he got close. Real fucking close. The face was out of his range unless he landed a high kick but it was a risky, difficult move that left him open. He didn't feel passionately towards this man or this fight, but he did want to knock the fucker out quick so he didn't have to play through three rounds of this shit.

Which meant real fucking close was the best option.

He slipped forward quickly to test Aziz's speed. The man was faster than Heero had anticipated, his fist almost colliding with Heero's head before he slid back. Tricky. But he noted the frustration in his opponent's face. He figured he could use this to his advantage.

Heero danced in and out of his range for a full minute, frustrating not only Aziz but the crowd as well, though they were easy to ignore. And then he dodged forward and landed four swift punches to Aziz's midsection. As he suspected, the man barely flinched and the muscle was unyielding. Unfortunately the move proved to be a mistake and before he could duck out Aziz grabbed a fistful of his hair and threw him to the ground. Heero saw stars and tasted cooper as his head impacted with the mat but his body automatically used to the momentum of his fall to roll back into a standing position and he managed to block a punch with his forearm, though he slid backward into the mesh with the force of it. His forearm stung painfully and he muttered a curse under his breath. He drew his other arm across his face and he confirmed with little surprise that he must've busted his lips and nose as the amount of blood streaking across his arm was excessive.

He had to quickly slide along the mesh on defence and that pissed him off. But it gave him a moment to formulate a plan. Unfortunately that plan included taking another damned hit and it couldn't be up against that fucking mesh. So he ran out the clock, deftly avoiding Aziz for the remainder of the round despite the throbbing pain in his face. Heero felt a bit vindicated to see Aziz panting and they glared at each other across the ring as he spit blood and tried to quench the flow in a towel.

A tie, even in the first round, was unpleasant. No one liked it. Not Heero. Not Aziz. _Especially_ not the crowd. They heckled and jeered and cursed Heero for being an elusive 'pansy ass.' Even a ref spit the insult at him. Heero wanted to chuckle at the absurdity. So, he liked to fuck men. His sexual preferences certainly wouldn't interfere with his ability to take this bastard down.

When they faced each other again, Heero and Aziz immediately moved towards each other. Heero had prepared himself for the hit, but the punch that drove him to the ground carried enough force to knock him out. Would've knocked him out if he had tensed instead of relaxed. He crumpled on the mat, blood resuming its gush from his face, and then Aziz made his fatal mistake. He moved in close, overconfident – thinking Heero immobilized – to deliver a knockout punch if it were required.

But Heero was prepared. As soon as his knees were in range Heero twisted up on his side, one arm planted firmly under him, chambering his right leg before throwing his full weight off the matt and into a kick aimed straight at the Arab's right knee. He heard the snap as the knee bent backwards and Heero recoiled back into a crouched position before slipping his legs behind him and standing almost two feet from his initial position, out of range of Aziz as he fell to the ground.

Without a second thought he threw himself forward in front of Aziz's head, collapsing his knees at the same time he curled his arm in front of him, his elbow facing downward and colliding cruelly with Aziz's thick skull. Heero might not have been as strong as him, but he was damn strong, strong enough that a well-placed elbow-to-the-skull would knock any man out. Even a hulking bastard like Aziz.

And even though Heero saw his eyes roll back in his skull and he knew he won, he doled out a few more half-hearted punches to that ugly ass face for good measure before the referees pulled him off and drug him back towards the netting.

The crowd was fanatical at his display and his eyes swept over them dispassionately, feeling no pride, no remorse, none of the pain of his fucked up nose and none of the fanfare or excitement of the swarming mass of irreverent fucks outside the ring.

He only sought out one thing. One pair of eyes.

Duo's.


	3. Chapter 3

Duo had watched Heero Yuy do some dumb shit over the years – watched helplessly as he jumped from a hospital window, saw him self-destruct – some ridiculous faith in orders and saw him take down falling chunks of Libra in some moment of fucking stupid self-sacrifice – but coming _here_ , to his world – to his mission, that was the dumbest thing he'd ever done. Heero wasn't an undercover operative. He was the straight arrow, the type to follow orders, ingrained into him through a childhood of regimes and sterile training labs and damn near brain washing. There was a reason that Duo was an undercover operative and Heero wasn't – hell, there wasn't one, there were many – and now Duo was pissed.

Oh, he'd known that Heero would beat Aziz – knew it like he knew that the sun rose and set on earth and that there wasn't a damn god. That certainty he'd held close to his chest. If Duo had been able to win a few fights then he knew that Heero could no matter which opponent Kerrigan had picked.

"He's good," the voice said behind him.

Duo felt the breath on the back of his neck and tried not to flinch at the close proximity. Never show fucking weakness to men like Kerrigan – it was important to be deferential, maybe a little bit spunky – but don't let him see a moment of weakness.

"You saw him – he don't need me."

That was the best way to play it – to say that Heero didn't need damn training. To keep the distance between them as best as they could in this freaking place. Heero would be put into the barracks where all the fighters lived and Duo had upgraded to a room of his own months ago – after watching blood spray and fists crushing into bodies until it looked like nothing more than meat. It was hardly an upgrade; a tiny, shitty, rotten smelling room that made deep space prison facilities look charming – and he'd done time in one of _those_. But at least he could keep his distance. Didn't think he could sleep in the same room without something slipping.

Fuck. Why did they have to send Heero? He expected they'd send someone – taking too long and he'd missed his last check in by days but he expected Wufei. He expected someone in the undercover unit at the very least. Not damn Heero.

He could try and ignore him but the size of the venue and the barracks and the general colony structure meant there was only so far he could go and plus he had his cover to maintain. Fuck again.

Duo could _try_ and ignore Heero but after watching just one fight a flood of suppressed feelings had surged under his skin and even though his body, his eyes and his mouth gave jack shit away, his emotions were like an out of control rollercoaster. He felt the caustic anger that only Heero could provoke in him. Heero had all the ammo. Knew how to use it. Then there was the desire, that need, that stupid want that came with having fucked around with someone in every imaginable way and seeing them in the flesh for the first time in too damn long. And Heero was half naked. Sweaty. In a damn cage. And the slickness of the walls and the dense smell of bodies and testosterone and raw masculinity and everything about the situation brought that feeling of want. And it wasn't the place or the time for those feelings. Kerrigan couldn't know. No one could know. It was a stupid move on Une's part, the fucking Preventers' part and on Heero for damn agreeing to take this role.

"You work with him," Kerrigan said. "He's good… but I need him to be the fucking _best._ "

He was sure that Kerrigan didn't need to stand that close to him but he resisted the urge to elbow the guy in the stomach or worse.

"Fine," he replied through gritted teeth.

Duo could hear that he sounded petulant, childish even as he looked at Heero not playing up for the crowd as he should – blood dripping down his face, the lip was split, the nose bleeding – and as Duo appraised his injuries, their damn eyes met.

He couldn't help it, never could, as it was when Heero looked him dead in the eyes, those eyes that were just _too_ blue or something, that was when he always lost it. Lost reason. Lost a semblance of control. Those eyes never showed much, always so cold and always so piercing but now they showed something. Maybe an apology for this. Hell, not an apology. Heero didn't do apologies. Duo didn't apologise. Maybe just something else, longing, maybe. Need? It had been a long time. Duo didn't consider Heero when he took undercover work. That wasn't quite true – he did, a little as he knew it wasn't the healthiest way to be in a relationship when one half gets a mission file and leaves for months on end without contact. But he'd never promised Heero anything.

Never promised him he'd be there at his side at all times. Never promised him commitment and living together and buying groceries and sharing space. Yeah, he knew it was love because only love could drive him this crazy – only love could be this much of a mindfuck. It _was_ love – just their own twisted and badly choreographed version.

"I'll go play nice," Duo said as Heero's eyes left his to exit the cage and the crowd's response was a mix of applause and jeers.

The punters hadn't decided whether they liked Heero yet. Maybe once he had a nickname, learnt how to look like he gave a damn and tried a little… flair, then maybe the crowd could like him. Duo almost wanted to groan at the idea – trying to persuade Heero to play up to the crowd would be like trying to sell ice to Eskimos or something. He was totally fucked.

"You do that," Kerrigan said.

Duo made his way through the crowd who were starting to disperse a little in the break between bouts. There was a palpable disappointment in the air. Aziz was a crowd favourite and a _lot_ of money would've been bet on his win. Hell, if Duo didn't know Heero, he would've bet against him – but then he'd been on the receiving end of that body too many damn times whether it was being punched in the gut or pushed down to a bed. He knew what those hands could do.

By the time he was able to shove his way to anywhere near the proximity of the cage, Heero had slipped out of the main venue and was probably in the back room for patch up. He went through the doors passing a couple of heavies who protected the fighters from the occasionally over-zealous members of the crowd. Duo was sure that a few would probably like to kick Heero's ass depending on how much money they'd lost and they let him pass. Being a guy with a braid had certain advantages – people recognised him on sight and didn't give him shit. Though he supposed none of Kerrigan's crew would give him shit now as he stalked to the back room.

The fighters and other gang members didn't try to engage him in conversation as he passed – all knew him well enough to see the black cloud following him – knew he was close to flipping. Probably what had made him a good fighter in the cage. That temper. That fire. Hell, people had learnt that about him, damn did they learn. The ones that had got the full brunt of it had been the fighters and Kerrigan's less than smart goons that had made an attempt to touch his hair. He used to get pissy enough when Heero used it as a leash during sex but when Heero's cock was balls deep up his ass he let it slide… any other person, any other time? Fuck no.

He reached the med room and managed to open the door with an impressive slam. Heero didn't look startled and he didn't give anything away. It wasn't Jim patching him up and Wade was long gone – probably to what worked as a make-shift infirmary – it was one of the least threatening looking of Kerrigan's crew who looked like he was trying to help patch him up but didn't seem to be succeeding. Duo could see that blood had already congealed and at least the nose wasn't broken. Heero's face was far too pretty for a broken nose. He thought about making a damn joke but he was flaming pissed so humour got bypassed.

"Get outta here."

Duo spoke with enough authority that the crewmember got skittish and moved to leave, putting down cotton swabs that he'd not been allowed to use. Heero was the fucking worst patient anyway – he remembered being called to Preventer HQ after he'd returned from a field assignment and having to stop Heero from growling at nurses and threatening to kill anyone with a needle. And he'd been at least a little sedated at the time. And shot. And had a broken arm. Seemed like having next of kin on those forms allowed for some fun times.

Heero didn't do being touched by strangers.

The crewmember left, quickly closing the door behind him and leaving them, at least briefly, alone. Duo could only look for a moment, glanced at him up and down, saw him in damn spandex again – half expected to see those ugly sneakers but his feet were bare – a good move in the cage. He let his eyes trace back upwards, scanning that familiar body, abs, nipples erect from the slight chill in the air, up to throat, jaw, face and damn eyes. He didn't look like he needed stitches. There was so much that Duo wanted to say right then as they stood in that room, three steps apart, but only three words came to mind.

"What the fuck?"

Duo wanted to shout, he wanted to scream but his voice was low, steady and calm. Screaming would draw attention and despite the noise from the crowd there was always that suspicion, that caution that only years of working undercover could bring, and Duo didn't want this conversation overheard. Really didn't want anyone to know anything or see anything or think they saw anything between them. It would be too fucking suspicious that out of all the illegal fighting dens in all the damn earth sphere his lover would end up in his. It would make it seem planned. It would make him seem like a snitch. Too convenient.

"Une sent me."

If Duo was angry before, he was angrier now. They doubted him. After everything they doubted him – all the years and all the jobs and all the damn things he'd sacrificed for the Preventers and they now thought it was when he'd gone rogue. Stepped over. Done like his stupid psyche profile said – snapped back into the world of crime like someone with his aversions to authority was expected to do. Like they thought he was on a lovely vacation and was enjoying the blood and sweat and isolation of being in this shit hole.

"They think I've gone rogue."

It wasn't a question. He didn't need to ask. That's why they sent Heero – someone who _knew_ him. Knew him intimately and who he couldn't bullshit or hide from. Remembered all those years ago when they were told that they could never work together as they compromised each other or some shit. Now they were using their relationship like a test of Duo's loyalty.

"Your reports have been erratic."

"Erratic? Fucking look at this place. This ain't standing outside the Princess' room at the motherfucking Ritz. I don't get chance to write dinky little reports. I ain't a standard field agent."

Heero didn't react at the attempt to belittle his own role within the Preventers.

"You didn't meet the contact window."

"I was fucking busy."

He folded his arms across his chest and blew his hair out of his eyes. They didn't allow simple shit like cell phones or laptops in the colony – all the paranoia of a criminal gang. The crowd knew that and those that didn't got them smashed when they entered the arena. To make a contact window, he had to get to somewhere with a connection and that was not easy even with his stealth skills.

Duo avoided Heero's eyes for a second.

"You think I've gone rogue?"

"No."

There was that certainty. No fucking hesitation. Not an instant where Heero looked unsure.

"I've been gone a long time," Duo said, returning to look directly at his bloody face.

"You wouldn't."

"That simple, huh?"

He took a step forward closing the gap between them, his pulse increasing, his blood pumping, reached out across a gap that wasn't just distance but a gap of days and months – years.

"I missed you."

Damn, it sounded pathetic when he said it out loud – all chicky and girly and shit. They didn't do feelings well. Duo found his hand stopping, knowing that they couldn't do anything in the confines of this room – no lock and it was too suspicious and if he touched Heero he didn't really know how much self-control he had. It had been a long time and his right hand had been no comparison for an aggressive lover. No fucking match for that passion or intensity. It had been far too long since that frantic night before he'd left – twisting in sheets and just taking what they needed from each other before he slung the duffle bag over his shoulder and didn't say goodbye. Goodbye sucked.

"I gotta go – you patch yourself up and I'll see you to train in the morning – gotta keep this fucking charade up, yanno?"

Heero didn't give him much chance to make his retreat – to do the sensible thing and just get the hell out of the room – before his back hit the metal wall and lips met his own, clumsily, all teeth and blood and bumping of noses. Duo opened his mouth and met Heero's tongue, fighting back to regain a bit of control over the kiss rather than just be crushed by it, hell, all thought of how they couldn't fucking do this was fading as he felt the pull of inpatient hands at the leather belt and felt himself almost smirking as he felt the tell-tale bulge encased in stupid spandex.

It was going too damn quick but it needed to be damn quick. The next fighter would be getting his ass kicked and they didn't need to walk in on Duo getting his ass fucked so when Heero undid his zipper and reached for his cock, Duo reciprocated, moving hands down abs that he wanted to trail his tongue down but had no fucking time, to the waistband and carefully stretched the material over Heero's dripping hard dick. There was a trick to getting a hard on out of spandex and it was something Duo had learnt – he tugged on that cock, the familiar feel and weight of it in his palm. He wanted time to kneel down and lick, suck and taste cum on his lips, wanted to spend time on Heero's body and remember where he was damn sensitive. Wanted the time but as they weren't going to get that, all he wanted was to be fucked.

"We have to be fucking quick," Duo panted.

"Turn around."

The instruction went straight to his cock making him feel even harder. It was too damn long. He slid denim down his legs, removing one leg to allow access – they'd done this enough times to know he had to make this as easy as possible – and he turned towards the metal of the wall placing his hands against the cold surface. As much as his hand wanted to drift downwards, he was close to coming from Heero's hand and he wanted to come from a quick hard fuck rather than his own hand.

Heero had found the Vaseline and Duo was grateful for their location – he probably had nothing like lube in his own room and he was pretty sure this first fuck was going to have some pain with the pleasure.

"Fuck…" he hissed.

One finger had entered his body and he felt himself tense – the unexpected sensation making him feel like a fucking virgin again. That ship had sailed long ago but here he was trembling slightly and sweating as one slick finger probed.

"Relax."

He wanted to bite back at Heero that it was a long time since he'd done _this_ and even though in masturbation he occasionally finger fucked himself, it just wasn't the same. To attempt to distract, Heero's hand travelled over to his nipples, teasing through the thin material of his t-shirt and using the cotton to create some friction. It worked a little as the second finger was added and he could feel the scissoring motion and the slight relaxing of his muscles.

He could feel Heero groan at the sensation around his fingers knowing that would be where his cock would be in a few moments. Duo took a deep breath as he felt the third finger, lubed up and while Heero was bigger than three fingers, it was enough and he could hear the sound of the crowd and was getting paranoid that the next fighter could be here at any moment.

"Fuck me already."

It seemed Heero didn't need telling again, Duo looked over his shoulder to see Heero use the Vaseline to coat his erection and then he spread his ass cheeks to begin pushing in. Duo squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to make much damn noise as that feeling – that stinging, that filling, that stretching overwhelmed him. He could tell Heero was having some trouble controlling himself – his breath was hot on the back of his neck as he tried to take him slowly, pushing in an inch at a time and resisting the urge to plunge himself to the hilt.

"You're so fucking tight."

"No one since you, baby."

The excruciating mix of pain and pleasure washed over them both, both chests heaving as Heero's cock was fully embedded within Duo and they stalled for a moment, unable or unwilling to move. Their relationship had never been the most functional but this – fucking – was where they fit together. Where they worked.

The first experimental movement of Heero's hips felt uncomfortable but then he started to move a little more, pulling out, to push back in with more force and then it started to become more about pleasure than the hint of pain that remained.

"Fuck me hard, 'Ro."

He grunted into Duo's ear and then complied – thrusting harder and faster into Duo's body and he braced an arm around his chest to stabilise him as he rocked into him, his cock meeting that spark of nerves inside that made Duo swear under his breath as he tried not to make the noises he damn well wanted to make.

Wanted to scream, wanted to make Heero know how he wanted it – hard, fast, without poetry and romance – but he was incoherent anyway as Heero began to hit that spot on every other thrust and it was just too fucking good to last.

The intensity of it was driving him crazy and he wanted to come now and the noise from outside was changing and it took a moment to register that the PA was announcing a winner and the crowd was cheering and they were fucking when someone could walk in.

"Shit," he swore and Heero seemed to understand as his hand grabbed his cock roughly.

A thumb went to the head to the slit to gather pre-cum and then Heero's hand quickly stroked in time to his own quickening thrusts. A few hard strokes and another hit to the prostate was all it took for Duo to come hard against the wall, an orgasm like he'd not had in years being ripped from him by the man he fucking loved in his own twisted way. He didn't shout in the moment of ecstasy, just rode out the wave as Heero thrust a few more times but they were shallow and jerky movements as he was too close and it was too much and too long. Duo felt Heero's release deep inside and the final few moments as hot sticky fluid spilled into him.

They had five seconds of post-orgasmic high and limpness before they needed to get dressed and not look like they'd done what they'd just done. Heero's spandex was on the floor and he grabbed them, pulling them up as Duo had no choice but to pull up boxers and jeans even with a stream of cum dribbling from his ass. The wall needed to be cleaned and Heero had found a towel and threw it across the room.

Duo used it and decided to just throw it in the trash that was full of bloody bandages and cotton swabs and then looked back at Heero.

"We can't do this again. If Kerrigan finds out we have a connection… it'll compromise both of us."

Heero only nodded. Maybe he knew that he had to follow Duo's lead here – that this was Duo's mission and he had been here a long time and needed to maintain the cover.

"I'll see you in the gym in the morning," Duo said, leaving the med room and Heero and the lingering smell of sex.

The whole job had been a bad one from the start. Now it had just got a whole lot more complicated. Fuck indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

Heero had seriously underestimated just how damned difficult it would be to see Duo again.

Normally when Duo came back from a long undercover they experienced what Heero had begun to call – at least in the privacy of his own head – their honeymoon period. He picked the name up from a pamphlet on abusive relationships. He chose to overlook the abusive relationship part, though. Or maybe not. It didn't matter. It was just a stupid fucking pamphlet in the stupid fucking office of the stupid fucking shrink Une made him see.

What mattered was that normally after being apart for so long they engaged in an intoxicating week of non-stop touch. Yeah, fucking in every way imaginable, but also a tenderness they rarely showed each other. Hands held, arms wrapped around torsos, lips kissing lips and fingertips. They would order pizza or Chinese or Heero would make them sandwiches with Duo wrapped around him in the kitchen, kissing his neck and shoulders and back, and they'd eat in bed, Duo laid back on his chest, resting between his legs and laughing. Heero could rest his cheek against that lovely pale column of flesh and feel the reverberation of his happiness echo through his own body like a ripple across a pond and Heero's heart would beat back a harmony of his own contentment.

But there was none of that here. There was just disappointed eyes and a quick fuck and a clean break. The lack of physical contact seemed crushing in the barracks – surrounded by bodies everywhere. His need to hold Duo overwhelmed him such that it eclipsed everything else as he lay on that cruddy little bed, soaked in sweat and blood and god only knows what else a hundred times over so that it smelled as rank as everything else in that fucking room, and he fought back the gut-wrenching trembling that threatened to overtake him.

What the fuck was he even doing here? Seriously. Duo was fine, he always had been fine, Heero shouldn't be there at all and maybe he could just slip out now while he still had a chance. While he was still whole. Before the stress of being around so many goddamned people, so many unfamiliar sounds, so much situational data overwhelmed him in the absence of his cure. He'd been here before and it didn't end well.

He knew the other fighters were talking about him all night, rumouring where he came from, what he was doing there, why Kerrigan substituted him at the last minute, where he was supposed to have trained. But he couldn't have made himself care. All he wanted was the familiarity of his lover in his arms – that touch to protect him from the ghosts in his own head threatening to drag him under.

And if that night was bad, the next morning training with Duo was a thousand times worse. Touch was like a drug to Heero, a man who had been denied its power for so long, and to be that close to the one person he trusted to touch every inch of him and not be able to was excruciating. Humans are social creatures. They thrive on shared contact. And Heero was pretty sure in the 412 days since Duo left he hadn't touched another person aside from obligatory handshakes.

"Hey, Wade!" Although Heero had just entered the room, Duo immediately turned away from him and smiled wide at the young man walking in, looking rather badly busted up, his face a tender, swollen mass of bruised nonsense. "Just don't fuckin' listen to nuthin', huh? What did I tell you?"

Duo threw a punch that landed on his shoulder and the kid fucking winced. Heero wanted to roll his eyes. The other fighters should be asking what the hell _he_ was doing there instead.

"Well, I gotta surprise for you buddy," Duo continued but the kid looked less than thrilled. "You're gonna help me train with Heero-fucking-Yuy."

The kid's gentle blue eyes met Heero's hard ones and he thought maybe he could put enough glare in to intimidate the little shit into leaving now. He was going to get himself killed, the poor sweet little lamb.

"Okay." The kid should've argued. But he didn't.

"You need to train against someone much better than you," Duo was explaining, then jerking a thumb back at Heero. "He needs to train against someone who sucks so he won't fuckin' kill 'em when they bracket him down where he belongs next week."

Although Duo wasn't looking at him when he spoke, Heero got the message loud and clear. Despite his performance against The Awful Arab, he was going to be facing much less threatening opponents for a while until he earned his place in a tougher bracket. Fine. To be expected. But the next words out of Duo's mouth made him want to strangle his braided wet dream.

"Plus, you get ta help me think up a stage name for him." Heero glared daggers at his back as Wade chuckled, the only one with clear visibility of both their faces. "And no complainin' Yuy!"

Duo turned to face Heero then, appraising him with his eyes. Heero had thrown on a t-shirt for training purposes but otherwise was still in spandex. He knew just how Duo felt about his spandex. But none of that read on his face.

"Come at me," he instructed and Heero didn't hesitate. He threw a right hook that was blocked by Duo's forearm and then a left with the same result. So he clasped his hands together, bringing both arms over his head to come down on top of Duo, but Duo threw up his forearms and although his knees collapsed under Heero's weight, Heero's fists didn't touch his head.

"See – you gotta block in there," Duo was explaining as he stood. "You don't stand a chance against someone like Heero the Hero if you don't."

Heero couldn't stop himself from grimacing at the name and Duo cackled madly. "Okay, that one's not very good or original."

Heero sparred with Wade for a bit, correcting the kid when he slipped up, with Duo's help and various shouted stage name suggestions. Horrible Heero, Young-n-Sexy Yuy, Major Pain, Steel Trap –and then several other suggestions including steel and various parts of his anatomy – were all shouted with wild abandon across the gym. But when Wade would grin at his trainer's amused ramblings, Heero realized that Duo's goal wasn't in fact to piss him off, but instead to lift the spirits of the damned kid who was clearly way out of his league.

Eventually Duo offered to scrounge them up some lunch and Heero was left alone with Wade. Even though Heero attempted to create some distance between them, the kid wandered after him like the lost lamb that he was and plunked down next to him. It was one thing to make a mentor out of Duo – Duo was warm, compassionate, caring and a good teacher. But to attempt to make one out of Heero was lunacy and his eyes swept coldly over Wade and his stupid, smiling, panting, exhausted face.

"Man, you are really good!" he enthused after chugging back a bottle of water. "I'm surprised you weren't up here sooner."

Heero ignored the attempted conversation and stared straight ahead at the door, waiting for Duo's return. This didn't appear to deter Wade at all as he kept right on talking and Heero realized instantaneously why Duo had a soft spot for the kid.

"– I mean you must've trained somewhere top notch. The rumour is you're from Earth, right? But Earth sure didn't prepare me for this at all."

And then Heero finally had an opening and turned towards him and asked him bluntly just what the fuck he was doing up there anyway. Wade went silent and his eyes got that far away look Relena's sometimes had before she was about to launch into some depressing reverie about her father or the lives lost to violence or some other unavoidable circumstance.

"Have you ever killed somebody?" The words were soft and Wade still wasn't looking at him but Heero felt a hint of surprise at the question. It certainly wasn't what he was expecting.

"Yeah."

And understatement of the year award goes to Heero Yuy.

"I thought so." There was a long silence between them and Heero felt hopeful that was the end of his listening exercise – but he was wrong. "I don't want to tell Duo because I don't think he'd understand... but I killed a man in Memphis."

Wade paused again but Heero didn't know what to say to the confession. He understood in the vague, technical way he understood that princess fairy tales made little girls happy that normal people didn't cope with killing well – but he certainly didn't feel qualified to give a fucking lecture on flexible morality and the perfect soldier's method of emotional compartmentalization.

"My ma was real sick and I dropped outta school to try to help make some money but it was never enough, you know? So I went out there to try to win some money, to pay for her meds. But it didn't work and I was in way over my head. And then I got the call that she died and I just... He came looking for me, to pay my debt, and I just killed him." Wade was shaking and his voice was unsteady and Heero just stared that blank, uninterested stare, unable to force enough sympathy for a string of bad choices to offer anything but. "Where else was I supposed to go?"

"You're wrong about Duo." The words clearly confused Wade who apparently expected some level of compassion from Heero. That irritated him, though. The kid surely wouldn't make it through expecting other fighters to show him any damned consideration. "He would understand better than me."

"But you –" Wade saw fit to argue and Heero silenced him with a look.

"You could still go home," Heero said coldly as the door opened indicating Duo's blessed return. "I've killed so many men, I have no home."

The only thing close to a home he had was the smiling face walking towards him. And that was fucked up enough as it was. Who rests their heart in a home with no foundation, no roots to ground it, a wanderlust traveller intent on escaping?

"Damn anyway, what'd he say to you?" Duo demanded of Wade, who meekly shook his head despondently. "You can't try to talk to people like him. I guess I shoulda warned ya..." He threw them some pre-packaged food and went to work talking enough for three people and attempting to get them on more amiable terms again.

Wade was finally back to normal and Duo called over another rookie more on par with his level of 'experience' – a kindness Wade clearly appreciated in his sore and exhausted state – while he lead Heero to the sparring mat. At least he'd get to touch him, even if he would have to fight himself at every turn not to slam that hard body into the mat just to press himself against it. Duo grabbed a kick shield on the way over and held it against his chest for punches. Heero willingly obliged, throwing at half power.

"You know what's going on here," Duo questioned softly through gritted teeth as he fought not to be driven back by Heero's relentless force.

Heero just nodded once. Millardo had briefed him. Despite the rather typical appearance of this clearly illegal syndicate, Kerrigan was supposed to be running an even more sinister game beneath this. He was supposed to be organizing highly exclusive fights to the death that were attended by notables including several members of the ESUN.

Duo shifted the kick shield to the left and Heero pivoted to throw a high kick and then Duo was back to centre.

"I'm close to getting in."

Heero gave another curt nod then he drew in close, grabbing the back of Duo's sweaty neck and hunkering him down around the shield, dragging him in for a hard knee to the stomach. Duo grunted softly and glared up at him with irritation at the unexpected treatment. Heero gave him the slightest smirk, running his hand up Duo's face and across his hair before shoving his head to the side roughly. His fingers trembled slightly as he withdrew – the desire to twist them in that swarthy mass and drag him into a kiss was _damned_ difficult to fight.

"Enough of the pad."

"I'm the trainer here." Duo scowled but threw the pad to the side anyway.

Heero let Duo lead the offensive and he caught his first punch in his hand and blocked his second with his forearm, forcing Duo to draw him in close and throw a knee of his own. He pulled it at the last minute and the hit was mostly ineffectual. But Heero released him and they backed away from each other.

"You're going to have to start playing to the crowd, you know."

Heero's eyes narrowed. That was the last fucking thing he wanted to do, but he expected the lecture after Duo spent the morning making up stupid names for him. This time he charged Duo, throwing a kick aimed at his waist. Duo spun out of the way but Heero grabbed his braid at the last minute, wrapping it around his arm and dragging Duo towards him, pressing him up against his chest and jamming his arm under his neck. The smell of him, the feeling of that wonderful body heat, that flesh he craved to touch, pressed right up against him was overwhelming.

"Or don't," he choked out quietly. "I don't want you in there anyway."

Heero wasn't surprised when Duo broke the chokehold with a quick, powerful downward grab and he immediately threw a hard elbow into Heero's stomach, shimmying out of Heero's grip in the moment of pain Duo knew he would experience. But Heero's anger at the suggestion that Duo would try to protect him wasn't diminished.

So Heero charged him again, throwing the first punch, which Duo blocked, and they grappled a moment, each trying to hit the other first. But even despite the time apart, they knew each other's style so well that when they were actively trying to compete against one another, it was nearly impossible to get a hit in. But then Heero noted a weakness. Duo's eyes flicked across the gym. Heero didn't turn to see what had gotten his attention, instead he moved forward, intent on throwing a punch to the gut – a move he knew Duo damn well hated but which would quickly and mostly painlessly end the match. But it was then Duo did something completely unexpected.

He threw a fucking elbow straight into his fucking face.

Heero immediately felt the blood spray down his face from his already tender nose as he stepped backwards to create distance between them. Anger roiled in his gut that Duo managed to land such a cheap shot on him. Generally face shots weren't in Duo's repertoire and besides it was bloody embarrassing. He knew he was far superior in hand-to-hand combat than Duo – but obviously his year in this shit stall taught him a few things.

But all that meant was that now Heero wasn't fucking around.

He launched a counter attack that had Duo backing up to defend himself against the fury of blows and right before he hit the edge of the mat Heero faked a falter and Duo, seeing his opening, threw his weight forward into a punch of his own. But he overcompensated in his eagerness to return the offensive and Heero anticipated it. He dipped on his knees and swung a leg out in a sweeping arc, kicking Duo's legs out from under him. Duo hit the matt with an unceremonious thud and Heero threw himself on top of the other man, locking his hands around his throat and pinning his shoulders to the mat with his elbows and upper body weight. For his part Duo tried to buck his hips and throw Heero off of him and Heero had to admit the additional muscle did make his ability to control Duo more difficult. But he locked his shin in place across Duo's hip, digging agonizingly into his groin, each buck surely causing him significant pain. And in the end the crushing weight on his windpipe stole his focus and he eventually gave up – a spiteful, defiant stare plastered across his face as he gasped.

"I came here to fight," Heero growled, noting how the blood dripping from his face slid down Duo's cheeks like tears and he wanted to press the words against him like kisses, hoping Duo understood. Yeah, he came to fight for Kerrigan, but he also came to fight for Duo. He didn't need to be protected.

He stood then, wiping a huge swath of blood across his forearm, noting for the first time the way the other men in the gym all stared at him. It wasn't a stare he found unfamiliar or uncomfortable, although he knew it wasn't pleasant and it wasn't kind. It was the look a man had when faced with a crazy, wild thing. Something untamed, something unpredictable. Something that fucking terrified them.

And Heero's heart swelled because it had been all too long since he'd seen that look. But these men understood. Even with just that tiny display of his prowess, they totally understood.

He could tear this motherfucker down.


	5. Chapter 5

Duo slammed the metallic door of locker room with more force than necessary and made his way across the spectator area, an obviously pissed expression on his face. A few glances in his direction but most people let him go by without notice. The fights were going to start in half an hour and the fighters and gang members had better shit to be dealing with than one irate trainer. Kerrigan would have better shit to do for that matter but right now Duo didn't fucking care. The rolling anger of the last few days was not good for him – the torturous time he'd spent around Heero and the damn _knowing_ that all was not right with him and the stupid attempt he was making to get Wade back up to something resembling fighting form all had made him pissed. And now there was _this._

He'd only wanted to see the board. Only wanted to know who Wade was fighting. Heero could fight whoever the fuck Kerrigan wanted him to – Duo had little concern about him but Wade was too damn injured to be fighting and his wrist wasn't quite right and his stitches were too obvious and it was all like letting a lamb go to the fucking slaughter. And then he'd talked to Colton. The tablet had the list on and on one glance down at it... Duo felt his stomach clench and his mood take a dramatic turn for the worst. Damn. Kerrigan was fucking heartless as he read the words.

**Heero "The Iron Fist" versus Wade "The Farm Boy" - W**

Next to the words sat the letter that made him even more pissed – the capital W at the side in red and bold. He hadn't trained Wade for a weapons fight – hadn't got that far with him being that Wade was a kid and as green as they came and weapons fights were special occasions. Kerrigan _told_ people when it was weapons night. Got everyone excited. Got the tension rolling off everyone in waves – meant there was a guarantee of gore and blood and broken bones and teeth. The crowds loved it. Some of the fighters did too.

Knew Heero wouldn't have a problem with it – probably could make anything into a weapon but there was that feeling in the pit of his stomach that Heero maybe didn't know – didn't remember, maybe – when he had to stop and putting him up against Wade who was weak anyway seemed brutal. Wade, the kid who didn't even have a tough name – the Farm Boy versus the Iron Fist, the kid versus a man who'd been trained to kill since childhood.

Duo didn't want to doubt Heero, not in any way, as relationships – even fucked up and complicated ones – were built on trust and not fucking doubting the one you're with but Heero was as cold as he could remember him being and Duo couldn't get him alone. Needed to get him alone and not for five minutes for a cold hard fuck – needed to look into his eyes and get _something_ back and talk and not be all about aggression and fighting and violence. Just needed to touch him gently, run his fingers over his face, down his sides and remember what they could be like together. How, while they were never normal, they had something that meant that they always had the other to go back to. They had blind faith. They had trust. And now Duo doubted Heero. Doubting when Heero hadn't doubted him – didn't question that he wouldn't have gone rogue.

Kerrigan was in the VIP bar area suspended above the cage as there were those rumours again, damn rumours, that someone important was visiting and really Duo should be thinking about the mission and thinking that this someone important could give him some intel that might help him. The intel, the in and the death fights and the rich and powerful who liked to watch people die is what he should be focusing on but the whole blindside of Heero had totally fucked up his focus in this shithole. And right now, he wasn't thinking – just thinking that Wade was fucked and Heero was too strong for the kid and this was something he was not willing to stand by and watch. There was nothing worse than watching an unfair fight. Maybe the fucking guest was a sadist who enjoyed the whole idea of seeing people being beaten death with a pipe or a crowbar or a brick or cut up with a switchblade. His own shoulder blade was sliced in half by a switchblade as he dived away from Javez the Juggernaut in a weapons fight. Lost that one, he thought, bitterly, bleeding too much from his shoulder and a cut above his eye and couldn't see and couldn't do much as Javez had reach and he was cut too deep.

Duo hated the weapons fights. Too much blood. A step too far.

He barged his way through the crowd. It was early still, music blaring and people arriving and first drinks being consumed but he didn't look at the crowd like he usually did. Didn't try and see the mood or the type of lowlifes around him as he arrived at the stairs and the two grunts let him past.

Kerrigan was sitting at a table near the edge, the prime location for viewing and the only seating in the whole damn place. His back was turned, his body obscuring his "guest" and Duo just started talking. Right now, the whole notion of deference to the boss was lost and quite frankly, he didn't give a shit. He'd done this to Une – stormed into her office and made a scene and justified his psyche evals about his "temperamental" personality and his "issues" with authority. Made him a hero among fellow Preventer agents as the notorious ball breaker was not exactly popular with the rank and file agents and many had their shit with her. Duo included.

"I've seen the board – no fucking way is Wade –"

He started his rant but it was stalled by a wave of the hand as Kerrigan turned to look at him and his eyes drifted from Kerrigan to the man on his left and a familiar head of ice blonde hair.

Zechs Merquise or whatever the fuck he was going by these days. Milliardo fucking Peacecraft. The Lightening Count. Agent Wind. The cunt had too many names and considering Duo had never really had claim to one it always seemed like a stroke of narcissism or greed to have that many ways to refer to one damn person. Duo's eyes narrowed at the man, all that long blonde hair and height and piercing eyes – Milliardo, Agent Wind, whatever – and tried not to react with hostility. Like most people who'd fought against White Fang, against the whole idea of dropping Libra onto earth and killing a shit load of people, and especially a Gundam pilot who who'd spent what he thought might be his last moments destroying bits of Libra – Milliardo's return to the Preventers had been one that had riled.

The fact he had walked back in, not once, but twice, damn it, and the second time returned to a position of authority was grating. That all could be forgotten. Yeah, Duo knew that he'd done his share of shit during the war and killed countless people but he hadn't gone bat shit crazy and threatened to destroy the earth. Plus he was a lowly agent, a huge personnel file of all his faults and all his psyche evals and then there was the vague feeling that Duo had, always had, that there was only one real reason they let people like him and Heero into the Preventers. Duo always thought they wanted them because it was safer that way – could keep tabs on them. Keep them under close watch. Ensure they weren't plotting some diabolical terrorist scheme. There was no other way they were suitable agents and would've been recruited if they were ordinary Joes. Heero was a walking time bomb and Duo knew he wasn't much better. He'd have become a hardened criminal if he'd remained on L2 – drug dealer, gun runner, gang banger, murderer, thief – those were his great career options. International terrorist had been one rung up the ladder.

And Milliardo had come back from Mars – minus Noin – and everyone had speculated and rumoured and wondered what made him come back but he'd just walked into Une's office and got a job as some kind of supervisor or something of field agents and that was that. Higher salary. Corner office. Not subjected to psychologists and extensive medical examinations. Seemed the one way to get ahead in the Preventers was to have fucked Treize Khushrenada.

Duo had only seen, Zechs, Milliardo – whatever – a few times, a few times around HQ and at compulsory functions but only really talked to him once. At one of those soirees of the Princess' that Heero had made him attend as Heero always felt so _damn_ obligated to her and so Duo went with him and stayed around the edges of the room and tried not to look sour as Relena wanted Heero on her arm all night and somehow, for some, stupid fucking reason, Heero would do that for her. Let her. And that's when he'd first met Milliardo Peacecraft.

"You're the one fucking Yuy."

For an opening line, it had been impressive and perhaps intended to be insulting but Duo just smirked.

"You'd prefer him to fuck your sister?"

"Touché."

That was the only time they'd spoken, a million miles from a banged up colony on the edge of a cluster, it had been a Sanc ballroom, champagne on silver trays and not the sweat and grime of the place they were in now.

"This is one of our trainers," Kerrigan said smoothly. "You may remember him from the cages..."

Milliardo stood and reached out his hand in some version of mock civility. It was out of place for the world they were in now and Duo didn't return the favour, keeping his arms at his sides, hands balled into fists looking at him with suspicion that wasn't entirely out of a place for a low ranking lackey in a criminal gang.

"I don't shake hands."

"Duo… play nice… this man is Milliardo Peacecraft and a significant benefactor of our little operation."

Grudgingly, Duo took the offered hand and noted the use of the name – his actual name – and wondered what the fuck was going on. It didn't make sense for him to be here in Preventer capacity when they had him. They'd sent Heero, damn it. They didn't need a third Preventer as that would compromise the whole thing. And that could mean only one other option. That the guy was crooked or just damn near wanted to see the poor and hopeless beat the shit out of each other. They weren't cheery thoughts.

"I saw you fight once… you were quite impressive. The Demon, was it? I think that was quite, appropriate, was is not?"

There was a look in those pale blue eyes that implied more – the reference to the shadow of Deathscythe and when Duo had been pilot 02 to OZ and fuck all more. Thorn in their side. His side. Merquise or Peacecraft or whoever the fuck he was meant to be now. Milliardo held his hand a little longer than needed and Duo couldn't tell if he was trying to communicate something and shit if he knew what it was. He released his hand and Duo returned it to his side, briefly swiping it against black denim as Milliardo sat back alongside Kerrigan.

"I didn't pick my name."

"Well… with your _style_ it suited you."

The word style was drawn out and if Kerrigan figured there was something more happening here, more in the implied words and the looks between the pair and Duo's open hostility, he did not betray it. Duo figured style could be the black he clung to like a second skin or the braid or the tattoos or it could be the fact that in his time in the cages he'd had no damn style – been like a demon, he guessed, or that's what someone had said and thus his name was born. Ironic, really, that he was named independently of his past as the pilot of a Gundam that looked like the Grim Reaper.

Kerrigan motioned towards the bar to request another drink and then looked closely at Duo.

"The board stays as it is… I wanted something, special, for my guest and we ain't had a weapons fight in some time… so I figured your boys were more than capable."

"Heero is. Wade ain't. It's not a fair match up."

The laugh that answered his protest was cold and chilling. "I thought you'd have learnt that life ain't fair by now."

The noise of the first fight announcement and the countdown to the first bout was heard over the PA as drinks were delivered to the circular table.

"Join us and watch… I'm sure you'll get a better view than down by the cages. You know how the crowd gets during weapons fights."

Duo gritted his teeth, grinding his jaw. Knew how it got – people baying for blood, more so than usual and it was all so nasty and depraved. His gaze flashed back to Milliardo who was taking a sip of his drink without any indication of anything beyond mild curiosity and Duo felt his shoulders slump ever so slightly in defeat.

"I gotta talk to my boys."

He turned to the stairs and stopped as Kerrigan spoke, looking back over his shoulder.

"Tell Wade good luck."

The words were harsh and it hit Duo that Kerrigan wanted this – an unfair match, a weapons fight when the kid wasn't fucking ready and against an opponent who outclassed him totally and then another thought hit him like a punch to the gut. Kerrigan probably had watched Heero – seen him in the gym and realised the lethal potential in that body. Did he want this to be a fight to the death? A little preview for the important guest or some shit? It all felt wrong. Bad. Fuck.

The crowd had built up in the bar area even in the short period of time Duo had been in the box. People were getting prime locations and the board and odds were brightly showing on a large screen on one wall – the bookies getting their first bets in as a current of electricity seemed to be running through the air. Weapons fights. Always brought out the worst in everyone involved – the crowd, the gang, the fighters.

Wade was in the "red" locker room. The two locker rooms of the opposing fighters were separated by little distance but the red locker room had an atmosphere that clung to the skin – all perspiration and anxiety and unleashed violence. Wade knew his opponent by now. Colton had pasted it up – a paper copy written in jerky block capitals and the large W's next to those fights that included weapons. It seemed to be randomly selected – not every fight was weapons to break up the entertainment, to make the bloody, damn near brutal fights more impressive in the cage when alongside those tame fist fights. Funny to think of the fist fights as less brutal.

The kid looked nervy, more so than before his first fight, his baggy shorts seemed ill fitting and the kid had gone for a tight tank over his pale chest hiding some of those bruises from his first bout. Also from Heero's fists in the training. From Duo's fists. He'd not babied Wade this week – tried to lift his spirits maybe, _tried_ to make him act like a real fighter and real fighters got back up and fought back.

"Never back down. You can be down but not out, understand, kid?"

He'd said it over and over again. Down but not out. Like some cliché.

And now he had no advice that was worth shit. Knew a little how to beat Heero from his own experience but then a lot of that advice was dependent on a fight leading to fucking and how a light touch and a tongue over the collarbone, the biting of skin, the flick of a nipple and a hand on a hardening dick could work as a distraction to get the upper hand. Most of his advice was fucking useless. Then some of it wasn't – as the only way to get around Heero and his training and his damn precision was to be completely and totally unexpected.

Cheap shots. Dirty tactics. Unfair fight. No flair and no attempt to play nice. It was the only damn advice Duo could give.

"I ain't gonna win," Wade said.

"You don't have to, kiddo, just give 'em hell."

Wade's eyes looked wide. Duo was close enough to see the freckles on his pale skin and he looked every inch the farm boy he'd been nicknamed. A name that said cannon fodder.

"You've fought Heero this week… you just gotta do unexpected shit. Hit him in the face. Go for the groin. Do what the fuck you have to do. Don't play fair. Fight dirty, kiddo. Only chance you got."

He attempted to be reassuring but it was weird to be telling Wade how to fight Heero and even as he was talking he knew his advice was worth shit – Heero had schooled Duo in the gym, made all his training and fighting and honing of his body in their time apart seem worthless when he still could dominate. Yeah, it was no longer as damn easy for him but still, Heero could beat him and even with dirty tactics, Wade had no chance.

Colton came in and with a heavy realisation, Wade knew it was his turn.

"Dead man walking," said one of the fighters to a chorus of sniggers.

Duo spun to see who had said shit, knowing the fighters and their opinions and their attitudes but he had no time to lash out on Wade's behalf. Plus the kid was fucked. Heero couldn't go easy on the kid – had to be a fighter for cover, had to want it and want the glory and guts and cash.

Wade walked out and Duo followed only to detour to the "blue" locker room, bypassing Colton to try to speak to Heero before this went down. Heero had already left the locker room and was about to make his way towards the cage when Duo stopped him, noting the hard, calculating look in those blue eyes as they traversed the venue, the large crowd, took in the stench and density of the air.

Duo wrapped his hand tightly around Heero's wrist feeling fabric rather than skin, the touch, the brief moment of contact making Heero jolt and his eyes meet Duo's own. He needed to be able to do something more than that, give him some moment of comfort, jog some memory in his brain of who they were together, who they could be in those quiet moments when their kisses were gentle and bruising force wasn't necessary. Needed to remind him what it was like to feel. But he couldn't. He could only offer some stupid ass words Heero probably wouldn't hear anyway.

"Don't kill him. Be careful. He's weak. You know this. Just stop, yanno?" he said, quietly.

There was a flash in Heero's eyes that betrayed emotions but it was too brief and the room was too full and the sound of the announcement was ringing and there was nothing left to say. Duo felt more words cling to the back of his throat and felt somewhere that this was a damn betrayal, that he should have faith in Heero that he knew the line and he knew that Wade was fucked – but it was too late. He'd said it now. And his fingers started to slip away, the moment of warmth through the wraps gone, and Heero was walking out as he should and Duo could only sit back and watch the fight from behind mesh.


	6. Chapter 6

Heero stared at the selection of weaponry for him to choose from. He didn't really want any fucking weapon. He didn't need it and it made Duo's warning practically worthless. He was a hundred and fifty times more lethal than Wade with his bare hands anyway. With a switchblade, a chain, a whip? Heero didn't even want to try to calculate the odds.

The feeling of Duo's fingers around his wrist, even through the fabric of his wrist wraps, left hot impressions on his skin that he tried to ignore. Duo wasn't stupid. He wouldn't have said what he did if he didn't know on some level what Heero intended to do. What Heero _had_ to do. Wade was just the unlucky bastard Kerrigan picked but there was nothing Heero could do about that and if there was anything Duo could've done it was too damned late now.

No, Duo wasn't stupid – but he _was_ wrong.

Heero selected a pipe and tested the weight of it in his grip. The only thing Wade had on him was reach and although Heero certainly didn't need a two foot steel pipe to make up the distance, that's the weapon he would've chosen had he been paired with a more competent opponent. In a tiny way it rankled that he had to be bracketed down like this and maybe that was part of what made his decision so easy. He didn't have the luxury of dicking around, playing the bracket game. Duo had already tried that, Duo was already out here for over a damned year, if Duo's way worked Heero would be where he should be – watching over Relena's incompetent security staff and waiting patiently for the day Duo would be standing in his apartment when he came home at night.

He never quite understood why he wasn't approved for undercover missions – not that he particularly cared, work was work was work and working for Relena gave him an acceptable level of satisfaction – but now he was forced to assume that Une was only keeping him in reserve for when shit really needed to just get done. And now that he was here he could see exactly what the problem was. Duo was too sentimental. Duo cared too much. He'd always cared too much. And while Heero appreciated that about him and realized that sentimentality was probably the only reason he even kept coming back to such a cold, obtuse person like him, he also knew that kindness wasn't doing him any favours here.

So he would do what Duo couldn't. And hopefully Duo would understand that he was doing it for him.

He stepped into the cage and faced Wade's pathetic, nervous face. Oh, he wasn't _trying_ to look nervous. No. He steeled his expression as best he could but it was nothing compared to Heero's cool, absolutely emotionless stare. Because once he'd shoved Duo from his mind – always Duo, his one fucking weakness – he found he could so easily slip back into that duty-bound solider he'd been for so long. Death was just another part of life and this fight was nothing more than a blip on his radar of shit he had to do to get things back to the way they should be and Wade meant nothing to him. He was just a dumb kid that made some bad choices that were about to catch up with him too fucking quick.

Wade had chosen a foot long serrated hunting knife. Not a bad choice when you've got reach, Heero noted with a hint of amusement, but he held it all wrong. He held it like he was going to stab with it, but that wasn't prudent. If he wanted to win, he needed to hold it downward, he needed to use it to tear.

It took Heero less than half a second to assess four different ways he could take Wade down with his first move, but Duo had warned him to play it up to the crowd. It wouldn't wound his pride any to let Wade get a hit or two in. He just didn't want to get cut. Even if Duo could understand his reasons, he was going to be seriously pissed at the outcome of this match and sewing your own sutures was a real pain in the ass.

So when the buzzer sounded Heero stayed right where he was, an obvious taunt for a nervous opponent, and his fingers flexed around the pipe dangling at his side. He heard the crowd anxiously jeer for someone to make a move as the seconds ticked by, and so Heero raised his other hand and twitched his fingers in a degrading "come hither" motion. He could see that move caused stubborn, masculine pride to override even the heaping and completely justified fear in Wade.

And then Wade charged him. Heero was always a bit sadistic but he fought back the urge to laugh. It was like Wade had completely forgotten he was even holding a knife. He moved like he was going to punch Heero in the face but Heero side-stepped easily, shifting the pipe to his left hand and swinging it low and easy into the back of Wade's knees. Wade fell back on the mat gracefully, but only because Heero's initial move contained the finesse to allow him such grace. He stood back and waited for Wade to get up.

He knew this was pissing the crowd off. No one really liked to see an opponent so easily bested being toyed with. But Heero didn't care about that. He only cared about Kerrigan and he wanted to prove a point. He was better than this.

Wade got up and immediately was heading back in his direction. At least he was holding the knife correctly now, Heero realized with a certain level of satisfaction. Maybe as a consolation prize he'd let Wade get one hit in. Or maybe he'd do Wade a solid and make it so he wouldn't see the final hit coming.

He slashed down at Heero but Heero had shifted the pipe back to his right hand and met Wade's too wide stroke with his forearm, effectively stopping the motion. The knife didn't touch him. He smirked when Wade's soft, too damn gentle blue eyes met his but instead of the dismayed expression he expected, Wade's brow furrowed and he ploughed his knee right into Heero's groin.

Heero grunted as he stumbled backward and collapsed on his knees, almost losing his grip on the pipe. Even genetic modification couldn't diminish the pain of a brutal, unexpected hit to the groin. The only thing Heero could think in that blinding moment of searing agony was that that was Wade's one hit. No more for him. At least it was a good one.

Wade didn't give him a chance to recoup and he rushed him once more with the knife raised. Heero just barely defended, lifting the bar over his head with both hands and the scraping sound of the blade against steel made Heero grit his teeth together even harder. Wade thrashed with the knife once, twice, three times – meeting Heero's hasty defence each time – before Heero finally caught his breath, the pain in his pelvis a mere dull ache, and he threw his body weight forward, tucking his chin down and slamming his head straight into Wade's chest. Despite the fact that Wade's momentum was going forward, Heero had so much more strength and force to his hit he threw Wade into a backwards stagger. Wade's arms circled as he tried to get his balance and catch his breath but it was too late for him.

Heero stalked forward after him, threw his arms back wide, pipe held like a baseball bat, and swung full force into Wade's foolishly exposed side. Wade collapsed, knife slipping out of his grasp. He inched himself forward, dragging himself after the knife by his hands, his legs desperately trying to kick out some kind of help but they weren't doing much good considering he had to have suffered several broken ribs and Heero knew from experience that the pain of that injury was fucking excruciating.

He was standing over him, just about to deliver his last blow, when the timer signalled the end of the round and he forced himself not to let the pipe connect with his downed opponent anyway.

They both retreated to their corners of the cage. Well, Wade was really just carried back by the refs. Heero sucked down water and tentatively repositioned his tender genitals through his spandex. Fuck but that was unpleasant. Wade never indicated he would do anything like that in training. If Heero had known... Well, it didn't matter now. He gave Wade his shot. Game time was over.

The brief respite was over in mere moments and Heero was facing a shaky, barely standing Wade. It was too easy, fuck but was it too easy. It really wasn't fair. This dumb kid was only here because he killed a man who would've killed him and he stupidly thought that meant there was nothing good left in him. He just killed one man who likely had a criminal record a mile long and deserved to die and his snow-white conscious told him that made him a bad person now. An outcast. Fit to do nothing but wallow in the dregs of society here in this little corner of hell. Over one man.

Heero had killed thousands of men – husbands, fathers, lovers, good men fighting for what they thought was a just cause and even then Heero was able to find salvation in the peace he'd achieved, in Relena's sympathetic forgiveness, in Duo's gentle caress.

But then he realized just a bit too late – killing one man might undo _him_ , too.

He was already charging forward, swinging his arm back behind his shoulder, pipe gripped tightly, heavy and brutal but light as a feather in his driven sense of purpose. Wade was just another man. Another body. Death was just a part of life. This was just a means to an end.

He was making the right choice in terms of the mission.

Wade's half-hearted defence would've never been enough to stop that pipe even if his arm had reached high enough to properly try. The sickening crunch of his skull cracking under metal seemed alien to Heero despite its familiarity. It was just never like _this_ before. It never – it never _felt_ before. And in that moment he realized with horrifying clarity – _there was no reason for this_. There was the mission but the mission – _fuck_ but what was it about this mission that justified this kid's death again?

It had been so long since Heero had taken a life.

For the first time he regretted ever leaving the bunker.

Heero stared in a slow, sick shock as Wade's body slammed into the mat, blood pooling rapidly under his bashed in head. His thoughts backpedalled desperately in his head as he fought to remember just how he ended up here – how he came to the conclusion that this was the only possible end result. He _had_ to kill him, didn't he? He was sent in to do this job, do what Duo couldn't do, so he _had_ to kill him. But then why did he suddenly feel guilty?

Duo asked him not to kill this man. Duo asked him not to kill this man but he'd fucking done it anyway. And although he knew logically in his head that he'd spent days formulating this plan, days in the putrid stink of a cesspool of violent humanity considering his options, he couldn't for the life of him remember why. Why it seemed so important. All he could think about was Duo's eyes, all worry and doubt, warning him. "Don't kill him." But he shut Duo out – thinking Duo was weak, Duo was too close to the subject, Duo couldn't do what needed to be done.

Maybe there was some truth to that – but Duo still had control of his soul.

The deafening screams of the crowd and the PA system announcing his victory seemed very far away despite being only fifteen feet. He watched as Wade's chest somehow still drew laborious breaths and in that shaky moment Heero saw fit to do something that despite all Relena's patient explanations he'd never truly understood before.

He prayed.

But it wasn't so much a prayer as it was begging. Truly remorseful, wretched, demoralizing fucking begging some superior cosmic force to take away the decision over Wade's life or death. He threw the killing blow but maybe for once he could be wrong and it wouldn't have been enough to kill and he wouldn't have to live with the consequences of his actions this time because he was just a boy. He was just a stupid boy, a boy who didn't know any better, a boy who could never grow up because he never had a childhood – just training and conditioning he could never break. Training that would always draw him back, back to this, back to the fucking folly of his youth. He was just a boy and it wasn't his call to decide who lived and who died anymore.

 _It wasn't his fucking call anymore_!

He begged the decision be taken out of his bloodstained hands but it was too late. Maybe Duo was right. Maybe Duo knew. Maybe Duo wasn't trying to save Wade at all. Maybe Duo was just trying to save him from himself.

Maybe Duo should've never let him out of his goddamned cage.

And then everything was moving too fast, way too fucking fast, and Heero was being dragged out of the ring and Wade was examined on the mat, his fingers curling and uncurling pathetically, his chest heaving with those shuddering, arduous breaths. And then Duo was there, hovering over him, all compassion and concern for his wayward charge, his sad little lamb who fell into the den with the lion, the lion that Duo couldn't ever hope to train.


	7. Chapter 7

There was a moment of hushed silence. It took some time, the fever pitch, the damn excitement of the fight had taken over and the crowd was a pack. But then there was the slow realisation that the kid wasn't moving and then the crowd was lulled into that curiosity that was like watching a car crash or someone dying on the sidewalk. Even the assholes who visited the cage fights had some morality – somewhere in their fucked up psyches – or so it seemed. And then there was a moment of silence as a kid was lying dying in the middle of the mat and the blood was pooling around his head. Duo missed Heero – missed him being dragged away by Colton and another of the fighters but he was there looking at Wade and knowing that it was death. Been around it enough that any action now was useless but there was always that stupid part of him, so _fucking_ stupid, which had that thin sliver of hope that they could do something.

They were going to have to move him, head injury and all, out of the cage because Kerrigan wouldn't want a little thing like death to stop the fights – wouldn't want to send the punters home. Once Wade was out, the mat would be disinfected and cleaned, the blood wiped up and the next bout would go ahead like nothing had happened.

"Hey, kid," he said, gently, leaning down.

There was the slight spark of life. His chest rattled with each breath, foamy blood pooled out of his open lips, a small slit of an open eye. They were not good signs of life but it meant he wasn't _quite_ dead and that was better than nothing.

Jim had climbed into the cage, an old-fashioned doctor's bag in his hand that had no use and he was kneeling at the boy's side, blood absorbing into the fabric of his pant leg.

"We gotta move 'im," Jim said gruffly, not bothering to get any instruments from his doctor's bag. "He needs the infirmary."

Duo bit back a comment about stating the fucking obvious but instead tried to help. The heavies employed by Kerrigan pushed back the crowd as Wade was moved and the gurney from the med room was waiting. It was awkward, Duo holding his upper body, his head against his chest and blood pooling everywhere and dripping, his clothing quickly becoming saturated. There was no elegance in getting him out as Jim held legs and he was out of the cage and deposited on the gurney with as much gentleness as they could manage.

The crowd started to stir again, noise returning, obnoxiously loud music put on and it seemed the decision had been made that the night would continue as usual and it didn't matter whether Wade would live through the night or not. Duo looked up to the spot where Kerrigan and Milliardo sat. They hadn't moved and they were watching, Kerrigan holding a glass of scotch loosely in his hand – casual, as though they were talking about the weather or the price of titanium or something totally irrelevant. Kerrigan raised his glass, a quirk of the lips and eyebrows alongside it, and it was tempting for Duo to forget the entire reason he was here. To just go up to the VIP section and fight Kerrigan – to release the violence he'd been dying to unleash. It would be fun to beat the self-satisfied smirk off his face but he had to remember his place – undercover Preventer, not a loose cannon gang member.

He turned, braid whipping hard against his back, and followed through the door, his bloody hands pushing them open and leaving crimson marks as Jim pressed Wade past a crowd of waiting fighters in the corridors, curious to see how bad it all damn was. Probably wanted to assess the damage the Iron Fist had done as Heero was still the unknown and they all probably wanted to know how good he was – wanted to measure themselves against him. Duo knew the fighters were talking, knew they'd seen how Heero could kick his ass in the gym and freaking knew that Wade had been doomed from the moment he'd stepped into the cage.

Dead man walking. They'd said it. Fuck, they _knew._ Knew what a man like Heero could do. Knew it just as well as Duo did. Violent alpha male types who assessed threats to territory and Heero had arrived like a shot from a beam cannon and they'd all known he was capable of knocking someone's brains out.

There was no damn sympathy for Wade. There was no solidarity among the fighters – yeah, some made arrangements – sparring buddies, fuck buddies, whatever – but they didn't give a shit about each other as in the end any of them could be Wade if Kerrigan chose – if Kerrigan fucking decided to put them into a fight they couldn't win and they ended up bleeding out on a gurney. And Duo looked but no damn Heero. Wondered for a second where the hell he'd have been taken – wondered if Colton was talking to him and knowing no one else had a shot of calming down or getting any sense through his thick skull but him – Heero was nothing if not guarded, stubborn and would shut down with anyone else. Especially after _this._ His first damn kill in years.

The infirmary was nothing like the well-stocked Preventer medical wing. The colony had been abandoned too long ago for there to be recent equipment and what remained was old, rusted and barely working. It had probably not been well equipped at the time. Workers had always been expendable in colony construction. The gurney creaked as it was pushed inside – done too much work in this place – too many broken and bleeding bodies.

There was an unfamiliar person in the infirmary – a woman. There were so few women on the colony in general and seeing an unfamiliar one at that made Duo start. People knew Kerrigan had a woman – knew she could be his wife, his daughter or his fucking whore. It was completely unclear and no one damn saw her but people knew and knew that she was not for anyone else as sometimes the overcharged masculine air made the time hell for those women who did live in this stupid place. She could be Kerrigan's mystery woman but fuck, Duo didn't know.

Duo helped push the gurney into the centre of the room and then stepped aside. There was nothing he could do. His own field medicine skills were rudimentary at best, amateurish attempts at stitches and the occasional bullet extraction. He'd picked up enough over his years of being beaten and cut and shot at that he could do those things to himself and, if necessary, on Heero but shit, he was out of his league when Wade's blood was seeping out of his head.

The woman helped, must've been a nurse or something but there was hesitancy in Jim's movements and it was if the doctor knew the inevitable but was trying to figure out a way to stall calling it. Jim had been a field doctor – explained all the shit he'd seen to Duo, told him that sometimes it was about mercy and Duo could get that. And Wade was slipping, breaths becoming erratic, barely moving the chest and it was all so fucking stupid but Duo couldn't help that damn streak a mile long in him that wanted to _save_ people somewhere deep down. Save some people to make up for the shit that he'd done – make up for the bodies he'd been making all his damn life. Save someone to make up for the dying boy in his arms, the dying woman, the lingering smell of burning bodies and the whole damned war – all the widows and orphans and grieving parents. It fucking seemed like he could never save anyone. Not Wade. None of those other corpses on his conscience. Probably couldn't even save Heero.

The moment Jim stepped away was the moment it became obvious he was gone – that there was no chance, there had been none since Heero landed the fatal blow, but there was a finality to stepping aside and to throwing bloody equipment down.

Jim nodded to the woman and made a step towards Duo, the older man reaching to touch him but Duo backed off – didn't want to be babied about the death of the kid. He could hear Heero telling him during the war that he cared _too_ much. Making conversation after fucking about whether Heero thought about all the damn people they killed and being told it didn't matter – it was the mission and the mission was what mattered. But shit, he did care. Wade should never have been here. Should never have been in the cage to begin with – not even going into how he sure as hell should have never been in there with Heero. So he was weak – he gave a damn that a kid he'd worked with, a kid he'd _tried_ everything to persuade to get out, and tried to make at least strong enough to hold his own, had died. So sue him. It was always better to feel something. He kicked out at the silvery trashcan.

Kicking the trash can did nothing, it just made medical waste – bandages and blood and used syringes fly and he knew he'd been a dick to Jim as Jim was a good guy and didn't need _this_ but he needed to lash out. They had no damn blanket, no sheet, to cover up Wade's body and he was just laid out there, dead, and covered in blood – his head still dripping and crimson liquid flowing to the floor of the infirmary in globular droplets. And the room smelt of blood and sweat and death. He made another angry motion, punching the cold metal of the walls, hard and feeling the bruising force against knuckles and it _hurt_ but it wasn't good enough. Nowhere near good enough and it didn't soothe him at all.

And he thought about Heero and about his own doubts and how they'd been damn proven. How he asked him to remember – to think and realise that he didn't have to land that final bone-crushing blow but he had.

"Don't kill him," he'd said, almost pleading.

Words that were utterly pointless now. Wade was dead and Heero was fuck knows where. Duo had not been so clean after the war, taking the job that he did and getting involved in the dirtiest work the Preventers could give him meant he'd killed a few times since the war. But that had behind the barrel of a gun and not by his own hands. But Heero – Heero had been safely tucked away where he didn't have to kill, where he didn't have to think about all the shit still going on in the world, shit that they had fought so hard to eradicate. He'd been locked away too long – dressed in a monkey suit with an earpiece and following orders to protect the Princess – and Duo didn't need to be fucking Quatre to know that Heero would not take the whole situation well. All those psyche evals, tests, and reports and they'd seen them – hacked into both of their personnel files as some kind of rebellion to see what their superiors thought. And Duo knew Heero shouldn't have been put on this colony in the first place – he _knew_ because even in spite of all that, even if there was no psyche evals, no Relena, no security team – he _knew_ Heero shouldn't have been sent to this fucking colony where he could fucking kill someone because he saw what it did to him. Saw with his own two fucking eyes what no one else had and spent a year on fucking damage control. Maybe he should've told Une – but then, maybe it wouldn't have made one damned bit of difference anyway.

His knuckles were red, the force of impact enough to break skin and Jim made a movement towards him – he supposed the doc could do something with the living and nothing for the dead boy on the gurney.

"Don't fucking touch me."

Jim backed off and removed surgical gloves, righted the trash but didn't immediately pick up the contents spread across the floor and Duo took one more look at Wade. The farm boy. The kid. And knew that now his body would be jettisoned into space with the trash and whatever family he had would not know what happened. That whatever he had been running from – whatever shit he'd done – it wasn't bad enough to end up like this.

The door took some of his anger, slamming harshly on its hinges and Duo had no idea where to go or what to do. The sound of the fights echoed down the corridors but he didn't want to see any more – just needed somewhere away from it and he figured that during the fights the gym would be empty – all the fighters ready to fight, or watching each other or being patched up after.

The gym looked empty as he entered and from its location the sound of the fights couldn't be heard. But he wasn't alone. It made sense, he supposed, as he approached Heero across the other side of the gym, the punch bag swinging. Duo knew he didn't deal with emotional shit – not that he could say anything, he'd fucking kicked over a medical waste bin like a punk ass kid. His knuckles, red, showed where he'd punched the damn metallic wall and it hadn't made him feel better. Nothing ever really did.

For a second, he thought about walking away – they wouldn't achieve shit now. It wouldn't be an emotionally charged beautiful reunion. It would be angry and bitter. But it was a low and cowardly move and fuck if he'd ever been accused of being a coward. It was pretty much the damn worse thing someone could say to him.

And he knew Heero would know he was there – it was an instinct and he would never let an enemy creep up on him. Never let Duo creep up on him. Never – even when they weren't in a shit hole of a colony. Heero was too wired, too unable to let go of all that damn training that Duo couldn't walk stealthily behind him and wrap arms around his waist and kiss his neck to surprise him as Heero knew and was waiting for his touch and the skin on skin contact. He never could quite let go of all that damn indoctrination and sometimes, moments, breathless moments when they were looking into each other's eyes and they were really _damn_ looking at each other, that maybe Heero did let it go, but then the moment would be over and it would all lock back into place.

Duo walked, his footsteps more exaggerated than usual – echoing, loud against the silence of the gym and the darkness of it, giving warning. It was like approaching a dangerous animal, walking straight towards it and giving it chance to lash out. The bag stopped swinging but Heero didn't turn around, instead, he held it and leaned his forehead against the leather and Duo couldn't see his face. He stopped, leaving distance, not sure, not knowing whether he should approach and not knowing what the hell he was supposed to say. The kid was dead. Fuck all else to say.

Moments passed and Duo could make out the outline of Heero's shoulder blades in the low light, the movement of his body as though catching his breath and it took a level of restraint to not reach out. He didn't know his emotional state and they'd not worked together since the damn war and Heero had been contained, cold, indifferent. It was easier then. No emotional shit. They'd been fucking then but it didn't mean anything as they were both dying or so they thought. Now it meant something. Now they were too deep in.

"The kid?"

Heero's voice was calm, monotone and cold. He'd not moved and Duo couldn't tell anything. He might as well be reading fucking Arabic or hieroglyphics for all he understood Heero's body language and words right now.

"Dead."

Heero took in the word and then began punching the bag quickly and with a ferocity that suggested his state of mind more than if he'd spoke, cried, screamed or even damn looked at Duo.

"Heero, stop."

His voice was quiet in the empty, dark space. Like trying to calm an angry beast or something. Gentle – something like Trowa and his lions.

"Heero."

He continued, his breathing became more ragged and louder in the space and Duo stepped forward, his hand reaching for Heero's arm and instinctively it was thrown back giving a second for Duo's own instincts to kick in so that his elbow didn't meet his nose. The next blow he was not so quick – he blocked but his body jarred from the impact and Duo knew that the adrenalin and anger and emotional confusion was making Heero pretty much unbeatable. Pretty much but not totally unbeatable.

Duo swung his leg, making a kick for Heero's knee but there was a hand there and with a sharp twist, his back was on the floor and then Heero was on top of him, hands around his wrists, pinning him down with body weight and faces close.

"Why don't you hate me?" Heero asked, harshly, hands tight.

"Do you want me to?"

"I killed Wade."

"You've killed a lotta people."

"You asked me not to."

He couldn't make out Heero's eyes clearly in the gloom but they seemed to be betraying something – guilt, confusion, _something_ beyond their cool harshness. He wanted Duo to speak – he guessed that he wanted him to say that he hated him and to blame him. But Duo couldn't blame him – he could blame the Preventers who sent someone damn ill-equipped to deal with this shit hole, he could blame the people who had trained a little boy to be a mass killer and he could blame fucking Kerrigan but he just couldn't blame Heero. Don't blame the wild animal let out of the cage – blame the people who let it out if someone gets mauled. Maybe he should take the blame himself. He was the one who had brought Heero back.

There were no words he could say to make it better but he knew he should fucking say something. I don't hate you. I want to save you. Maybe even somewhere in there something about how they were totally fucked in whatever this relationship was whether love or something damn like it but right then he had shit. He could only impress one way to Heero how he felt and that he didn't hate him for Wade's death.

Duo thrust his hips upwards using the momentary slackening of Heero's wrists and the reaction to the contact between groins to dislodge the hard body on top of him. Using the leverage, he reversed their positions, expecting Heero to continue the roll and be on his back but instead he stilled underneath him, staring up in the dim light.

He leant down, his lips meeting Heero's, still and unresponsive to his own and tried to make Heero understand that he wasn't just a creature of violence in the darkness of the gym.


	8. Chapter 8

Heero froze completely under Duo's searching kiss. He couldn't meet those lips, couldn't let himself feel or fuck if that dam wouldn't break and he would be bereft in an ocean of sorrow he didn't think he could hold back any longer.

Wade was dead. That was his choice. The consequences were his – but what would they be? An invitation into the inner circle? A successful mission? Wasn't that supposed to fill him with a sense of fulfilment, satisfaction? Duo was right, he'd killed lots of people. But never like this – not like this. Not so unfairly matched, not someone he trained with, not someone who was so innocent, so damned kind-hearted.

Wrong place, wrong time. Just like _her_ all over again. It wasn't that he was tricked – not like those Alliance members. It wasn't that he made a mistake, even. It was just... it was just fate, cruel, hard and demanding. He had a mission and in completing it, someone innocent died. So why did it feel so fucking bad? Why did it have to feel like _this_?

"Heero?" Duo's concerned whisper brought him to the edge of reality and the damn gentle hand stroking across his cheek felt like an iron leaving a welt across his skin. He didn't deserve this. He wanted Duo to punch him, to scream, to hate him, to never forgive him. He wanted Duo to exact the revenge he obviously couldn't be trusted to exact on himself. Duo knew him so well, every piece of him, he knew what would happen and he needed Duo to punish him now.

Heero twisted away from that touch, burying his face against the mat and hiding from those knowing eyes. But Duo just rested his hand on his upper arm, soft but forceful. "Heero."

"Leave." The command was simple but Heero didn't expect Duo to listen. Duo never fucking listened. But if he wasn't going to punish him, then he just needed to get the fuck out. Let him punish himself.

"Come back with me." It seemed like a seriously bad idea but then the thought of being in the barracks with all those men, all those men he might have to kill, didn't seem like a brilliant fucking idea either. He just needed to be _alone_. Seeming to sense how Heero felt, Duo continued. "My place is small, but it can give you some space."

Heero sighed and Duo got off of him, standing, offering his hand but Heero ignored it. They wandered though empty twists and turns and Heero found it comforting to be memorizing the path to Duo's apartment, an activity for his mind to focus on that didn't involve Duo or Wade or the mission. But they'd arrived soon enough and once the door was shut and locked on the dingy room Heero felt himself the subject of Duo's pointed stare.

"I had to do it," he said at last, sitting down on the well-worn bed. At least it didn't smell like the copper of blood or the tangy acridness of piss.

Duo just shook his head sadly and suddenly Heero was torn by the wish that Duo would come and embrace him and wrap his body around him and tell him it would be okay – and the pitiful desire to have made the opposite decision and be as far the fuck away from Duo as possible, to hide from him and everyone else once again.

"It was the quickest way to ensure the success of the mission," he continued monotonously, noting how Duo's fists started shaking. Maybe he would finally get the punishment and hatred he deserved. "They know I will kill."

Duo shook his head vehemently. "You didn't have to do it."

"The mission –"

"Don't you fucking _get it_? You are more than a goddamned _mission_!" Duo shouted suddenly, crossing the room like a tempest, and Heero thought – finally – and he waited for the punches that never came.

Instead, Duo's hands were buried in his hair, his lips pressed against his, his tongue roving his mouth desperately, as if he was trying to get some reaction, some tiny assurance that he hadn't lost him yet, that there was something there worth saving.

And Heero trembled under his force. He found his hands clinging to Duo's hips with a desperation that surprised him. And he kissed back, finding such comfort in Duo's touch that he couldn't deny it this time. In a strange way it was a different type of punishment – an acknowledgment of his compassion, his heart, his undeniable emotions. They seared through him like a hot knife tearing at every piece of him, twisting his gut in agony. If Duo only knew, he wouldn't touch him. The guilt gnawed away inside but his willpower was so infinitesimal when it came to his lover he would rather fester in remorse and misery than reject that touch.

When neither could breath any longer Heero pulled away and Duo trailed blistering kisses down his neck and across his sweaty shoulders, the heat in the tiny room feeling oppressive and suffocating and they were only making it worse but neither really cared. Duo's hands slid down his body, down his sides, and the sensation of those finger tips on his flesh made his stomach clench and he buried his fingers in Duo's hips, hanging on to him like a lifeline.

"I need you," he whispered, afraid of the sound of his own voice in the small room. Duo's touch quickly became more aggressive and Heero fell into it, unable to fight it, unable to deny it.

As much as he wanted Duo's hate, he realized with a sickening feeling that it was his love he needed most. After the war in a life without training centres and piloting and tactical decisions, Heero had been lost in a sea of posttraumatic stress disorder. If he had been shut down before, there weren't words to describe his self-imposed isolation post-war. No one had heard from him for a few months after the Mariemaia Incident and so Duo sought him out with a realistic amount of reservation. When Heero didn't want to be found, it was usually for a reason. But he sucked it up and was dismayed to find his former comrade holed up in an abandoned bunker with a ridiculous supply of protein bars and bottled water having sustained him for two months with the ability to keep him wallowing in his own paranoia and filth for another sixteen.

It had taken Duo a year to get him to the point where he could interact with people enough to take a job with Preventer and even then they made a deal with Une that he would be able to work with Relena, undergo rigorous therapy, and postpone his psych evaluations for a while. He acknowledged that without Duo's patience, caring, and eventual affection, he would probably have blown his brains out long ago. But that lead him to a direct comparison of his life against Wade's and he wondered – maybe it would've been better had he done it. So many times during those two months he was sealed up in the shelter he stared down the barrel of his 45, wrapped in guilt and loneliness and despair, and he wondered...

Duo's touch had saved him so that he could go on to kill another day. Duo's touch might be able to save him again – ground him, give him purpose – but he would be forced to kill again.

"Heero?" Duo questioned carefully. Heero's eyes stared blankly at the wall, lost in his thoughts, lost in the feeling of Duo's caress on his skin. "Heero, look at me." He placed a firm hand on his jaw and twisted his neck to meet his eyes.

For a moment Duo did nothing but stare down at him and he stared back, wondering if Duo knew, wondering if Duo truly understood what he did to him.

"Heero, one action doesn't define you," he spoke slowly. "You can make a choice. You can choose how to use your hands." But Heero knew Duo was wrong. He'd been trained for one thing, his whole life, that one decisive moment. The killing blow. There was no choice – there was only violence.

Duo pressed his lips to Heero's for a moment before pulling away ever so slightly so that his voice was merely a whisper against his lips. "Come back to me."

Something in Heero snapped for a moment and he gripped Duo's hands, desperately pressing them against his bare chest. In that singular moment he remembered – he remembered the feeling of joy, happiness, warmth – and he begged in a small, hopeless voice, "I need you to touch me."

In one swift motion Duo ripped off his shirt, throwing his arms around Heero and pressing their bare chests together, pushing them back on the bed. Heero's body shook as feeling poured through him. He'd gotten so used to turning it off, protecting himself with Duo gone, that he had almost shut his lover out completely this time and while he acknowledged that might not have been a mistake as far as the mission was concerned, it would've been a mistake in the greater scheme of his life.

Maybe he and Duo didn't have the most functional relationship. Maybe Duo left him for months on end. Maybe Duo had his own apartment still and their time together was limited by their inability to function in a normal chore-wheel and shared-sink tooth-brushing kind of way, but Duo was his anchor, his rock, his ability to interface with the whole fucking world and to cut him off, reject him... he would be acknowledging that it was over. He might as well crawl back into that bunker and curl up with his gun.

And when Duo touched him, he knew beyond a doubt that he didn't want to do _that_.

Heero's kisses became more passionate as he opened up more and more of himself to his partner in the safety the little room gave them. Duo reciprocated, his hands playing up and down Heero's sides with a gentle kind of roughness. Each well-placed touch burned into Heero, bringing him back, grounding him in the knowledge that there was something here for him still. He could still feel. He could still have fleeting moments of joy if Duo would still have him.

Nimble fingers edged against his waistband and Heero bit back a gasp, surprised by how compliant his body was considering how fortified he thought his barriers against Duo were only moments ago. But then, he never could truly deny the braided man who saved him from the ashes of his former life.

As Duo unfastened his pants, Heero's fingers traced the outline of a black and white eagle on Duo's rib cage, spanning from his hip to his nipple – new and not yet completed, larger than any of the others – and he pondered at the symbolism of it. Eagles had been extinct for over three hundred years – they were practically mythical. Duo seemed somewhat uncomfortable for that brief moment as he shifted to remove Heero's pants as well as his own, forcing Heero's fingers from him by virtue of his distance. In the absence of Duo's skin, his fingers fell to the two thin scars on his own bicep. It wasn't like Duo to be self-conscious of his body, but Heero didn't have time to dwell on it as his partner ran teasing fingers up his thighs, just narrowly skirting across all his sensitive spots but missing the crux of the issue, causing him to inhale sharply and bury his fingers into Duo's flesh.

Without much fanfare Duo kissed him deeply and Heero held him against his body, relishing in the feeling of the other man, the feeling he didn't get to experience in the rush of the locker room, and he felt a sense of completion he didn't realize he was missing.

Duo was here, now. And Duo would take care of him. And he would take care of Duo.

Duo reached into a bag on the floor and pulled out some lube obtained covertly on the black market – the shit you had to get black market on an abandoned resource satellite colony was damn near embarrassing – and he glanced down at Heero once the tube was open, one hand pressed firmly into the centre of his chest.

"You're sure?" he asked. He'd learned the hard way that Heero struggled with letting his guard down, even when he wanted to.

Heero grabbed him by the back of his neck and locked their lips together, dragging his whole body down against him before he finally released him, both of them panting for breath.

"I need to feel you."

And Duo understood. He didn't say a word but Heero knew he understood. He might not have ever listened but he damn well _had_ to know the power his touch had over Heero.

A deep groan escaped Heero's lips as Duo's slickened fingers entered him and Heero buried his head against the other man's shoulder, clinging to him as the sensation overwhelmed his starving body. He felt helpless against the tidal wave of feeling and emotion and need crashing down on him and he clung to Duo as though he were drowning.

Duo shifted and his fingers slid out, leaving Heero a quivering mass of over stimulated nerves and he buried a hand in Duo's hair, forcing his nose to his as Duo deftly lubed himself one-handed, his previous experiences with Heero's unreasonable neediness teaching him the necessary skills to manage it. He met Heero's questioning eyes with steeled resolve and Heero kissed him again, not letting himself blink, wanting to see every dilation of pleasure as Duo pressed into him with firm dedication.

But it was almost more than he could bare and his head snapped to the side as Duo pushed in, filling him, completing him. Sharing with him the essence of primordial humanity. Showing him a piece of himself that was meant to have been removed. Showing him that his own weakness was a strength – that feeling was good and right and – _fuck_ but it was _good_.

Duo's rhythm was painfully steady, each thrust slow and deliberate, each thrust a contraction of his thighs that Heero felt against the backs of his own thighs, driving him mad with the anticipation of each fluid movement. Kisses fell like rain against his shoulders and his face and Duo's fingers laced through his own, holding his hands over his head, and Heero surrendered completely to his prone captivity, no will to fight the man who showed him what good felt like – the man who opened up a whole piece of himself he had never known existed.

He realized soft moans were escaping him as Duo hit his prostate over and over, his dick twitching and swelling with each hit, his eyes slamming shut and his vision whiting out against the onslaught. And then Heero heard the telltale gasp that indicated Duo was close, he felt it too. A firm hand encircled him and only the barest amount of friction was needed as Duo smashed into him and he was over the edge with an alarming shout, his legs constricting and forcing Duo to bury himself deep inside as he met him there.

Duo collapsed on Heero's chest, Duo's face pressed against Heero's cheek, kisses planted, breathy sighs exchanged. A shaky hand pressed against Heero's face and it felt hot – his whole body felt so hot. Duo sparked an inferno within him, a flame that took weeks to put out.

"Missed this," Duo whispered into the quiet room after a long time of tender, reaffirming touches and gentle camaraderie was shared between them.

It gave Heero the one thing he wanted more than any other thing in the whole damned Earth Sphere – confirmation that Duo was _his_. That Duo still wanted _him_. That despite all his running, there was a chance for _them_.

And that was how he knew why Duo chose him over Wade, why he would forgive him, why he would make such passionate love to him despite his transgressions.

In his bursting moment of clarity he understood what it had been this whole time, something Relena had tried to tell him so many years ago. These long under covers were Duo's bunker. He was hiding, hiding from the things he couldn't deal with, hiding from that affection he only shared in little moments like this. Heero knew, knew too damned well that if he didn't drag him out, fuck if Duo wouldn't be lost to him completely.

And that was how he decided – he would do whatever he had to do to get them home.


	9. Chapter 9

They fucked again. A few more times. Taking time over it, swapping positions, tasting each other and finding some rhythm they'd lost, a synchronicity that Duo had fucked by taking missions in the dead of space without thinking about how Heero felt or didn't feel.

Heero's chest was tight against Duo's back, the constricting space of the metal military grade bunk made sure that their bodies were in contact from head to toe, Heero's face in the crook of his neck, braid thrown over his front so he could feel soft breath there, their ankles entwined and a steely arm around his waist.

The room was too damn hot like everything in this stupid place and the walls had condensation running down them from hot breath and the exertion of fucking. The grey threadbare blanket was thrown to the floor – neither of them giving a shit about lying naked, sweaty, dry cum on their bodies that flaked off like dead skin.

Duo tried to move but the confined space and the solidity of Heero's body didn't allow it. He needed to tell Heero to go, that they should've maintained some kind of professionalism and remember that this was a damn mission, an undercover operation and not some screwed up version of a vacation. He should've told Heero to sleep in the fighters' barracks after the first time but he just couldn't do it – couldn't make him leave like it was all some cheap one night stand after too many drinks. Heero was emotionally fucked and sending him away – making him deal with killing Wade by himself was a recipe for disaster. It made him think of that bunker and the 45 and the desperation in those deep blue eyes. About pulling and forcing and fighting Heero – making him believe he was _somebody_ ,that his life meant _something_ , and it wasn't all about missions and being expendable and being a killer.

He'd only moved the tiniest bit against the firmness of Heero's chest but he could sense the sudden alertness in a previously slack body and the breathing had changed against the skin on the back of his neck. Heero woke automatically and was at full mission readiness within a matter of seconds, the arm around his waist becoming firmer in its grip, fingers splayed across the muscles of his abdomen and causing a shiver as calloused fingertips touched there.

This is when Duo would leave. This is when, if they were on earth, if they were in Sanc, if they were in the "normal" cycle of their relationship – this would be when he'd bail. He'd stay for a few weeks and it'd be good but then it just felt like too much sometimes. Like it got too intimate, too intense and the way Heero held on sometimes felt a little too tight. This is when he'd retreat, take a step back and sort out his own head, go back to his own place and create the safety of distance. They'd maybe fuck one more time. Shower together and then he'd go. Now he was reluctant to move and reluctant to tell Heero to go – maybe it was just the deprivation, the post-coital high, the whole endorphin thing – it had felt like when they first started fucking but then in many ways better than that, more experienced and less clumsy and knowing and remembering how to make the other feel good – and it had felt good. Too fucking good.

It had been about more than the quick hard fuck against the wall – it had been about rediscovery and soft, tender touches in between that became steadier, more assured until the fire ignited between them again and they were both hard and hot, bodies demanding release in a collision of sweat soaked skin and lips and teeth.

Duo shifted to be able to see Heero in the darkness of the room, the low lighting of the corridors outside seeping through the gaps in the doorway. They'd slept a few hours, exhausted and sated, Duo's internal body clock telling him it was the early hours of the morning and it really wasn't wise for them to stay like they were.

"You should go."

He damn hated saying it but it would be too obvious if Heero stayed until the morning and forced to sneak some damned walk of shame in the day hours. It wasn't an OZ base. Heero couldn't just knock out the guards and retreat. He needed not to be seen by anyone – needed to pretend they were nothing more than trainer and fighter once again.

The fighters would've noticed he wasn't in the barracks at lights out but the fighters themselves generally weren't the damn brightest. They probably would just figure he was sorting his shit out alone and it was true some of the more brutal fighters might've approached Heero to fight now that he'd become a "killer" – a badge of honour, fear and respect in equal measure. Better he go back to the barracks at some point during this night, try to be inconspicuous and sleep the rest of the night there than not be there in the morning at all.

Heero grunted in response and kissed the place at the back of his neck before moving to the edge of the small bunk, lowering feet to the floor for a second before reaching for black shorts in the dim light and standing to put them on. Duo reached under the bunk to the bag that contained all his worldly possessions on this colony and threw a t-shirt in Heero's direction – the colour was once black but had faded over the period of time he'd owned the thing and then reached inside for some shorts feeling weird naked when Heero wasn't.

"I don't want you to go, yanno," he said, suddenly unsure of whether Heero _knew_ that.

"We need to maintain distance."

Duo rose to his feet not wanting to "maintain distance" – not after last night – and grabbed Heero's face, pressing his lips forcefully until Heero responded. It seemed to take time, that Heero was already starting to block it out and refocus and Duo didn't want that. Their lips separated but Duo maintained contact, their foreheads touching and their breathing could be felt across each other's face.

"Just remember that everything isn't about the fucking mission, 'Ro."

He didn't answer, instead, leaned forward to kiss one more time, gentler and less forceful than Duo's own and then left his shitty little room, the room that was full of sex and sweat, leaving Duo to try and damn sleep on thin sheets that smelt of Heero. He must've slept at some point as there was loud knocking on the metal door and least someone gave him some damn time to get to the door rather than just barge in. Maybe Heero wasn't there but he must've looked like he'd been fucked – barely slept, hair damn doing what it wanted and he must've reeked of it.

The person on the other side of the door wasn't one of Kerrigan's more observant men – Duo tried to remember his name – it began with C – something like Chuck or something but he hadn't really given a shit.

"Kerrigan wants you in his office."

"When?" he asked casually, leaning against the doorframe.

"Now."

"Just let me get dressed."

He closed the door on the guy, not caring and turning the glaring light of the metal cell like room and grabbed clothes. Duo knew he needed to shower but guessed he didn't need to make Kerrigan wait and not knowing what Kerrigan wanted him for made him feel a little uneasy. Maybe he wanted to discuss Heero's kill or maybe he knew something about last night. They'd been trying to be inconspicuous but they'd let their guards down – shouldn't have happened. Needed to happen for _them_ but not in the context of what they were meant to be doing on this colony. Didn't get them nearer to the death fights – only got them nearer to potentially blowing cover. Shit.

The first clothes in his bag were thrown on without any real care and he made an attempt to straighten his hair a little before heading along the maze of corridors to Kerrigan's office, the goon hadn't stuck around to escort him – probably just told to give the message and disappeared to the mess or something. It worked for him – didn't want to make nice this morning before he knew what Kerrigan wanted. He arrived at the door and knocked to announce his arrival before he entered.

But the office was not occupied by Kerrigan and Duo's eyes flickered to the man sitting on the chair – his blonde hair pulled back off his face and appraising him with a slight sneer.

"You and Yuy need to be more subtle."

Duo glared through his bangs and didn't give any indication of his surprise at Milliardo being there and not Kerrigan. "You don't know shit."

"You'll find I know shit. I find a small amount of well-placed contraband in the right hands means that I know more about Kerrigan's operation than Kerrigan himself. You were seen together in the gym."

It wasn't good. Duo felt his stomach clench in response. In the gym was bad, that was too intimate and hell if either of them had known they were being observed. They shouldn't be together on a mission, they had made themselves vulnerable and Milliardo looked triumphant. Arrogant bastard.

"Kerrigan know?"

"Why would Kerrigan know? The person who saw you was one of my own _friends_ and I feel no need to share this intelligence… well, not yet anyway."

Duo stopped, his brain suddenly catching up to the situation, blaming the lack of sleep and last night's activities on his slow uptake. It wasn't Kerrigan who wanted him – it was _him._ "You wanted to see me," he said, slowly.

"Bravo. Quick this morning, aren't we? I just wanted to warn you of your behaviour. I do not wish for a fellow agent to be brutally beaten to death because of the inability to keep it in his pants."

"Thanks for the concern, agent, but what the fuck are you doing here? Ain't you got a cushy corner office and people kneeling at your feet – the Preventer _Prince_."

He sneered over the last word, the nickname was probably one he didn't appreciate but he had no right to complain. It was common knowledge that Milliardo had officially abdicated from any role within the Peacecraft monarchy but hell if Relena would've let her brother into it anyway. He was too bloodstained for pacifism.

Milliardo rose to his feet in some display of strength or intimidation – Duo wasn't sure but he was damn tall and that was something he was using in this situation. Duo didn't like the fact he had to look up to him in the literal sense – wanted to look down at him.

"Ahh, maybe I miss the cushy office and being the _Prince_ but I think I'm more suited here than there… though the thought of you kneeling at my feet is quite provocative."

It was tempting to lash out physically as Milliardo was definitely trying to push buttons – maybe he wanted a damn punch to that pretty face but Duo wasn't going to be easily riled.

"Guess that's something you ain't ever gonna find out."

"I can say I've always had a certain curiosity about the five of you," he said, stepping forward, closing the gap in the space of the small office. "Something I thought about during the war and after."

"And you thought what?"

"About all of you or you specifically?"

"Whatever. I'm not here to play your game."

Milliardo smiled. "I thought that you, coming as you did, from the most deprived colony… well, that suggested you might have a certain skill set."

Duo knew the assumptions. Heard them plenty of times but he couldn't stop the hostility in his voice. "So I'm a whore 'cos I came from L2?"

"Maybe not as blunt… but I thought you must have some _skills_ in order for you to make Yuy follow you to this shithole – to a mission he is very ill-equipped for and away from his dear, dear princess. I just assumed with your crass language it must be something to do with your mouth."

The mention of Heero, the harsh reality of it that Heero was here because of _him_ , that he shouldn't be here, that he was so damn ill-equipped to handle it that it was obvious even to Milliardo, proven by bashing Wade's head to bone and blood and it was all because of _him_ – well, that reality hit hard. It was all because Duo ran and hid and didn't want to deal with real shit. A kid was dead because of it. That made him angrier than the damn implication of being nothing more than a L2 street whore – someone as pompous and fucking sheltered as a Peacecraft probably believed the shit he heard about L2 – but the whole judgement of their relationship from someone outside of it, someone who didn't know _anything_ made him make the first move.

Milliardo was a big guy, solidly built and more than a few inches taller but it seemed he didn't expect the elbow to the face with all the force he had – an old move but one he knew damn fucking well – and Milliardo was probably all about honour and the duel and wasn't used to a cheap shot. He wanted Duo to act like L2 trash – he sure as hell could hold that end of the bargain up with his fighting style.

He rubbed his nose with the white shirt that seemed totally out of place in the world they currently were in, leaving a small red stain – the white standing out in a world of rust and dirt – just as much as his ice blonde hair and the whole aristocratic shit that hung around him.

"Good. You have some fight in you still."

"You wanna see how much?"

Milliardo gave him a small quirk of lips – a look of a soldier and a clear accepting of the challenge.

Duo anticipated the first fist and he could tell he was trained in a totally different way to anything he'd ever leant. He'd been trained to box. Trained in Queensbury rules or some shit. All rules and civility in the middle of palatial estate. He blocked.

"You're predictable. You fight like you're a fucking gentleman not a soldier."

Another punch. Duo avoided it and landed his own blow, connecting with hard firm muscle and then backing out a little, using his smaller frame and agility as a weapon as much as his fists.

"Treize teach ya when he wasn't fuckin' you?"

The next of Milliardo's punches landed and was harder and unexpected. The low blow winded him for a second and it seemed the comment about Treize had pissed him off as he was no longer the elegant Peacecraft. Fire and anger and fight. And he pressed the advantage, using his body and pushing Duo against the door with enough force that it rattled in its hinges and used his superior build to keep him there. His body was far bulkier than his own despite Duo being in the best shape of his damn life and he was much broader than Heero.

They were touching from chest to groin and Duo felt the tell-tale sign of a half hard bulge against his thigh on the contact of their bodies. Milliardo's eyes burned in his – all liquid ice – angry, cold.

"You smell of sex and him."

"What happens when you fuck all night," Duo replied, coolly.

"You forgive him for killing your pet that easily?"

"He wasn't my _pet,"_ he spat. "He was called Wade and he was someone's fucking kid or do you forget that shit?"

"I think you'll find I cannot forget that shit otherwise I would not be here."

The anger in his eyes had dissipated but his body hadn't slackened against Duo's – all firm, solid, hard. A hand reached out and Duo turned to look away as it met his cheek in an affectionate gesture that Heero generally was incapable of doing. He looked back, their faces close and glared back.

"Why the fuck are you here?"

"I'm here for the same reason as you are. I cannot live in a peace time world."

"I manage just fine, Zechs."

He used the old name like an insult.

"Really? So I didn't see you fight like you belonged in that cage… I didn't see a man with nothing left to lose, who would snap a man's neck if given the opportunity. You need this… you can admit that to me. Yuy needs this. We are not the sort of men to sit in cushy offices, we need something else."

"I don't need this."

He should've added that Heero didn't need this – didn't need to think he was the mission again, needed to see the value of life – of his own life and other's.

"You're lying."

"I don't need this," Duo repeated.

"Convince me. Convince me that you've not felt more alive than when you were behind the controls of a mobile suit, that you can live without the power of life over death and the thrill of battle."

"I don't enjoy killing."

"Maybe not… but you don't shy from it. You fuck a dangerous man because you couldn't live with someone normal who'd see you for what you really are."

Duo thought he was still too fucking close. Bodies too close together. Didn't like the trapped and cornered feeling.

"And what am I if you know every fucking thing?"

"A warrior. A solider. A killer."

The response on his lips died, the sarcastic and clever thing he wanted to say that he couldn't remember as a mouth was over his and the short distance between their faces had been bridged and he felt the bruising force of a demanding kiss – no finesse beyond pure fucking lust that took a moment to react to.

It only took a moment to react to.

Duo's knee rose quickly and hard – knowing what the fuck he was doing and the pain he was intending to inflict. The contact with groin was hard and Milliardo faltered instantly, not expecting the extreme reaction and Duo followed it up with a kick that brought him to his knees. He leaned down, grabbing onto Milliardo's jaw and forcing him to look straight into his eyes.

"Yanno, I think you kneeling at my feet is a helluva lot more provocative."

He released his jaw, pushing it aside and left the office taking it as a win – leaving Milliardo on his knees and needing a shower to get the feeling of _that_ man off him.


	10. Chapter 10

The fighters' barracks were like a completely different world to Heero now. That night he came back, reeking of sex, he was subject to all kinds of emotional reactions he wasn't expecting. Fear, from some of the less experienced fighters – and some of the more experienced ones who knew damn well they couldn't defeat him after he took down Aziz his first night. Understanding, from men who'd been there too, men who turned to another live body to hide their guilt and shame in and fuck if it was another man, it hardly seemed to matter. Anger, from men who didn't want to be bested, men who wanted to take home the biggest winnings, men who made this shit their lives and didn't need some scrawny little upstart fucking with their standings.

The strangest by far was pity. The pity from men who had no other life, no choice but to fight, felt for a kid turned to violence, a kid who felt compelled to kill another kid – a kid who was clearly unequipped to handle his strength. Heero wanted to lash out at them, tell him he didn't need their fucking pity, tell those few, silent men with their sad appraising eyes that he'd killed before and he'd kill again and Wade was just a stupid fucking causality but they already knew and there was nothing he could say. Nothing he wanted to say.

But it wasn't until the next day that the challenges started.

Never out in the open, never where one of Kerrigan's men could see – certainly not Duo though Heero was damn sure Duo knew what was going to happen – and at first it started innocently enough. Being cut off wherever he was going – fine, Heero had the patience of a saint despite his less than pious past, he took it in stride. An intimidating glare – whatever, Heero could glare back with the best of them and never stood down from a challenge like that, never blinked or averted his eyes. A rough shove into a wall or a locker or a door – well, that Heero couldn't abide. He turned around and decked the first man who'd done it, and the second, and the third. By the third scuffle word got 'round that Heero wasn't taking that shit and things got a little more intense.

Heero knew what was about to happen. He wasn't a fucking moron. Sure, he'd never been jumped in a shower before but fuck if Duo didn't surprise him more than once during a late Saturday night at HQ when they were supposed to be home, supposed to be resting with their families or whatever normal people did on normal weekends. But Heero supposed he didn't find any regret in a life where normal was fucking around in the showers at work instead of catering to a couple snotty kids.

Anyway, the point was, Duo had a helluva lot more finesse than these lugs who were making a nice attempt at sneaking in on him. Heero smirked. This was going to be far too fucking easy.

"Hey ass-fucker."

Heero slid up his shorts and rolled his eyes at the wall. Gay insults were always his favourite amongst large packs of men. As if it somehow made a man weaker. If they wanted to try sleeping with the bloody fucking hurricane of fists and rage Duo could be when he was worked up enough, well... Good fucking luck. The thought made Heero chuckle as adrenaline started to hit his bloodstream in his anticipation of a true fight.

"What's so damned funny? Think you're a fucking badass now – killed a little boy and now you're a man?"

Heero turned to face his attackers. The one speaking was a guy known only as Thumper. Heero wasn't sure if that was his stage name or some weird nickname he garnered here but either way he didn't really care. He wasn't here to play nice with these guys, he was here to take down Kerrigan and get Duo the fuck out.

Two other fighters flanked him, a newer guy who was still bracketed pretty low, probably sucking up to Thumper, and someone in the same class as Thumper, Blaze Something. Or Something Blaze. Whatever. Heero didn't care.

Heero smirked and walked forward as if to leave, stopping when his shoulder reached the slightly taller man's. He slid his eyes menacingly across to meet Thumper's, narrowing his eyebrows slightly. Thumper squared his shoulders, glaring back, but nothing he could do would ever intimidate Heero. Because Heero didn't play games. Heero just acted.

"I'll fucking kill you too," he seethed and quickly, far more quickly than Thumper was anticipating, he threw a punch right into his gut, forcing the other man to double over and back up. Before the other two could even act he was swinging his leg straight into Thumper's head, his foot hooking into his head, his force and momentum dragging his head down into the tile floor with a sharp crack.

To their credit, Blaze and the rookie moved quickly to try to take Heero down but he was already moving, anticipating their moves. He blocked Blaze's punch with his left arm and threw one right to his face with his right. He felt the delicate bones in the nose shatter under his fist as the man crumpled in pain, clinging to his face as blood poured down it.

Unfortunately, that let the rookie grab a fistful of his hair to drag him backward a step. Heero threw his elbows back and when he reached nothing, he swung with his fist, the palm hitting hard into his side and the rookie grunted but his grip only tightened in Heero's hair. Damned irritating he pegged the rookie as the one with the lowest potential only to have him be the biggest threat.

Thumper was getting back up, seeming a bit disoriented but nevertheless still mobile, and he immediately saw the rookie struggling with Heero. His eyes were glazed with rage at being taken down so quickly and Heero saw what was about to happen.

He launched towards them and Heero threw a hand out to block the first punch but his block was weak and desperate as he was yanked by his hair. He managed to block the left punch barely but the second right hook slammed into his jaw with a cruel burst of pain. Heero paused, held onto the pain for a moment then let it go, took a brief moment to assess his situation. At least Blaze was still struggling with the pain. For that he was thankful.

When Thumper threw his next punch Heero was ready. Despite the pain he threw his body forward, head tucked down, and Thumper smashed his hand right into the surprised rookie's face. Heero's hair was released immediately and Heero rolled his shoulders, shoving forward and slamming into Thumper, forcing him backward into the wall. He gripped Thumper's throat with his left hand and slammed his right fist into his face once, twice, and then he heard the rookie coming and glanced over his shoulder.

He threw an elbow backwards with killing force right into the rookie's face and he went down hard. Heero figured if he wasn't dead from his sinus cavity collapsing, he was at least completely incapacitated for the next few hours.

When his eyes turned back to Thumper he realized the man had gone slack and he saw real, genuine fear in his eyes but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He was committed to this course of action and fuck if fear wasn't exactly what he was going for.

He threw another punch. Saw the other man's eyes roll in his head. Craned back his hand for one more hit to knock him out when the door slammed open and one of Kerrigan's men was shouting at him to stop. He glanced to him, then glanced back at Thumper, then let his hand drop, throwing Thumper to the ground by his neck.

"What the goddamned _fuck_ is going on here?!" Kerrigan's men were used to walking into scuffles. They weren't used to walking into murder scenes.

"Nobody fucks with me," Heero stated simply as he stepped forward confrontationally.

"Fuck man," the guy bitched and shook his head in frustration. "Why the fuck you gotta do me like this? What am I supposed to fuckin' do with this shit? God fucking damn it!" He made a series of guttural grunts and groans as his eyes assessed the situation and his brain tried to supply him with a decent course of action. "Well, you have to come with me. Kerrigan wants to see you."

Heero shrugged and followed him out. The guy called to the first person he saw to go get medical attention in the showers and after a no-nonsense glare the man complied. He was led back to the small office of Kerrigan's and once inside the goon practically exploded as he explained the scene he'd walked into in the showers.

Kerrigan listened to the accusations, nodded his head, and then told the guy to leave. He was suitably pissed but couldn't really argue. Once he was gone and the door was shut, Kerrigan's cool eyes were pinned straight on Heero.

It was a look Heero often used himself. Appraising. Assessing. Surely noting the swelling bruise on his cheek. Noting the look of nothing in his eyes.

"What happened?"

"If I'm going to get fucking jumped in the showers then I'm going to defend myself."

Kerrigan studied him, his lack of apology, his lack of all emotion over beating the shit out of men for no money, no fame, no ulterior motive than his fists pounding into flesh. He had absolutely no respect for the other fighters.

"But you weren't defending yourself. You weren't just teaching them a lesson."

"It was a defence – just not against them." Heero's voice was cold, devoid of all emotion. "If they died, it would teach everyone a lesson."

Kerrigan clicked his tongue and leaned back in his chair, running a finger along a scar across his cheek thoughtfully.

"You were a solider?"

"I was the best solider." No hesitation. Absolute self-confidence.

"And you're here, why? For cash?"

Heero shook his head.

"Can't find a better job?"

Heero shook his head.

"Because this is what you're good at."

Heero hesitated. It was what he was good at, but that wasn't why.

"Then what do you want?"

Heero chose his words carefully. He felt honesty was important with Kerrigan. He thought he could tell if he were to lie.

"Something you can never give me. Someone I can never possess. This is... a means to an end."

"A way to forget." Kerrigan hummed thoughtfully. "A way to lose yourself in what you're good at."

Then Heero decided to press his advantage before Kerrigan could speculate any further.

"I don't want to be pitted against rookies any more," he stated as if he had a choice. "Wade was a mistake. A waste of my time."

Kerrigan chuckled. "Good." He turned his head aside to study Heero thoughtfully. "Wade was a test."

"I passed." Unconditional confidence. Always confidence.

"You did. But I would like you not to fucking kill everyone before you face them in the cage," Kerrigan warned. Heero nodded. He understood. It wasn't profitable to lose fighters to petty infighting.

"Has Milliardo told you why he brought you here?"

Heero shook his head curtly. They only discussed it from a Preventer's perspective. If Kerrigan suspected that Milliardo wouldn't tell him, there had to be a reason for that suspicion, so it was perfectly reasonable to admit his ignorance and try to get some information out of Kerrigan with an explanation.

"I have a little operation going for select, special guests," Kerrigan started and Heero studied him with oblique disinterest as he spoke, although he secretly felt the rush of success he and fully anticipated feeling. It didn't minimize Wade's death – no. It was justified. Wade would help bring Kerrigan down. Wade would help prevent more poor fucks from winding up with his fate.

"These fights take place on Fridays and only the most elite of my fighters get the chance to compete. But there is one caveat," Kerrigan's brows furrowed as his scrutiny increased. "These fights are to the death."

Heero knew what was coming and didn't flinch. Instead his face contorted into a frown. "There's no one I can't kill."

The smile that slipped unfettered across Kerrigan's face made even Heero's iron stomach churn with disgust. Kerrigan loved this. He fucking loved this. Despite his own personal experience to the contrary, Heero wanted to believe in a future free of death and violence and destruction. He desperately wanted to believe in Relena's view of the world. And when he was with her, sitting next to her, listening to her recite a speech or talk to a diplomat, he believed her – hook, line and fucking sinker. He believed her just the way those politicians did. He looked into those soft blue eyes and melted under her idealism, her kind words, her resolute faith in humanity.

Even when Duo left again, left him alone, left him to deal with a total absence of the only home he ever knew – tucked away in the other man's wayfaring heart – Relena was there with her faith. And he let himself believe – believe in her notions, her optimism. Believe in her conviction that Duo would come back, that Duo did love him. Believe in everything she said as she tried to help carry his burden.

But now he was here. And his belief was in jeopardy. And he realized some part of humanity was always going to want to fucking rip each other's guts out. Always going to want to kill and maim and hurt. Always going to find a way to create a war – even a pathetic, artificial farce of a war on this shit hole colony, forced to the outer dregs of civilization because humanity had said enough was enough and they didn't want any goddamned _war_ any more.

And if Relena was wrong about that – Relena with her unwavering belief – then was she wrong about Duo, too...?

It didn't matter. No resolution could come here. Heero had to stick to the plan. Heero had to get them out of here, get Duo out of this rotting hunk of junk, and bring him home. Home to where he could share his own heart openly and wrap him so tightly inside of it he would never leave again because if he did he would risk breaking it and Duo could never –

But no. He refused to wonder over whether Duo would willingly break his heart or not. He didn't doubt Duo.

He _wouldn't_ doubt Duo.

The small voice inside him knew the truth though. It wasn't that he didn't doubt him, it wasn't that wouldn't – it was that he _couldn't_. Couldn't because if he doubted Duo than the illusion was shattered. Then he may as well live this life in the cage, or the one in the bunker, or the one in which he blows his fucking brains out because if Duo, the man who saved him from himself, the man who taught him how to live in a post-war world, would _willing_ do that to him... His understanding of the whole goddamned world would be a lie.

So instead he met that smile with a blank stare of imperturbable acceptance.

"Good."

And with that one word, he was in.


	11. Chapter 11

The Friday night atmosphere was very different as they walked into the amphitheatre. Almost immediately Duo felt the contact of a hand ever so subtly across his ass and he froze, grabbed the hand and stopped it from the touch he didn't appreciate. It seemed to amuse Milliardo as he spoke slowly and quietly making sure his words were clear as his grip remained on the wrist.

"I will do more damage to you if you try that shit again. And you really don't wanna see Heero's possessive side. I can tell you it ain't damn pretty."

"I imagine not but I can assure you that Yuy will be otherwise preoccupied."

Duo released his wrist but did so with reluctance and followed Milliardo, a step behind his meaningful strides.

This sucked. It fucking sucked but he had no fucking choice. After their night of indiscretion, Duo noticed the change in Heero immediately, though it was not obvious to those that didn't know him. Hell, even those who knew him, the other former Gundam pilots, maybe even Relena, perhaps wouldn't see it but _fuck_ Duo did and he didn't like it. He wasn't pushing him hard in the gym, he was resigned, maybe, or just sick of the charade of the place already and was so mono-focused on the fights and the next time he had to be in the cage with another unfortunate fuck. Duo warned him in the gym that he didn't look like he cared and he'd punched harder then – punched hard enough to wind him briefly and then had walked off leaving him standing there, pissed and looked at by the other fighters and trainers.

Duo wasn't stupid. He was aware the sort of shit Heero was taking now that he'd killed a man. Should've warned him maybe but he figured Heero was a smart guy and knew that in this world – a world that was a façade of hyper-masculinity and alpha dog politics and bullshit – that he'd made himself a target with a bulls eye on the back of his head. Maybe they just shouldn't have fucked again – it seemed like a weird sort of punishment having spent a night together that they were back to being forced to pretend and it was making his skin crawl.

The mess and the showers were the usual places for displays of macho crap and Duo had suffered them himself. Knew he would get the queer shit, the faggot, ass bandit and a varying degree of gay insults and jibes that went from the funny to just plain dumb – after all, he had too much damn hair and it made him stand out. They soon learnt to not fuck around with him, a few fights, a few scuffles and his insults back were usually better than the shit that was said to him. Sometimes a clever comeback worked. Most of the time it didn't but Duo held his own and tried to let some shit slide.

Heero really wasn't the sort of guy to let shit slide. Proved that he didn't belong on this mission – wasn't used to this sort of environment whereas Duo fucking came from this kind of environment. Whether the street gangs he'd grown up in or his time in the Sweepers, he'd sure learnt a hell of a lot about male displays of aggression and who had the biggest dick competitions. Heero was weirdly sheltered from this shit – didn't know, well, he'd never asked about his whole training and his life prior to piloting a Gundam, they weren't totally big on the whole sharing thing, but he had an awareness that Heero's training was intense.

But Duo knew Heero was taking shit. Knew it from a few bruises that showed up on his skin and from the stories going round that he'd nearly killed some guys in the showers. Knew that each day he was becoming more closed off even to _him_ and it was hard and it was clear that Heero was blocking him out more than he'd ever done. The only thing that compared was finding him in that fucking bunker and seeing him desolate and broken and desperate. It was damn unsettling and he wanted to get him alone and to force him to talk but shit if they could. And there was nothing he could damn do – inviting him back to screw around was not an option. Milliardo's warning rang in his head – needing to be more subtle.

But a week ago he managed to find an opportunity.

He walked to the mess – a pretty unpleasant place and food on an abandoned colony was a constant source of bitching – and joined the line behind a few of Kerrigan's men who were keeping a closer eye on the fighters than usual as there was an air of unease – stuff that Duo had encountered on occasion when the fighters were spreading rumours and there was an upswing in the amount of fights and scuffles between them. Fuck but putting Heero into this shit had been a total mistake. He'd tell the Preventers that on his next check in – make sure Une realised she'd fucked up.

"Boss been getting extra booze in…"

Duo listened as the two men in front began to talk.

"Donovan was lifting crates… apparently good shit."

"Donovan's shitting you – he wouldn't know good booze if it hit over him head."

The other guy chuckled. "Yeah but I also heard that Wallis was talking to guys about some extra cigs and some booze for a little extra work."

They'd arrived at the food – or what could generously called food – and the first man sniffed. "What do you think it's meant to be?"

"No idea. Least it can't be rats since we ain't got them here."

"Duo, you heard shit?"

Duo looked up at his name and shrugged as food was served up onto a brightly coloured plastic tray.

"Naw but trainers don't generally get offered extra work, yanno?"

The guy nodded and with trays full of something theoretically edible, they walked towards a table away from the fighters and Duo joined them, wanting to push for a little more intel.

"When they want the extra work?" he asked, casually, using a plastic fork to try and pick out what he guessed was meant to be meat in the grey sludge on his tray.

The plastic utensils never ceased to make Duo want to laugh – they were so afraid that the fighters might use a fork in someone's eye or some shit that they were treated like children.

"Friday night Donovan was saying."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, they said it was just to be kept on the quiet, you'see, as some guys ain't cut out for it."

The guys continued to talk about what the work would be, letting Duo listen and concentrate on thinking while eating and trying to figure out a way of getting in. The guys of Kerrigan's crew heard the rumours but these two were obviously not the sharpest knives in the draw and probably thought little about the fact that a shitload of booze was being brought in. But to Duo it meant that a death fight was happening and shit if he was going to know it was going on without getting something from it. He had to get Heero out of here – had to get them both out of here – before the shit hit the proverbial fan.

It explained why the fighters were anxious – made sense if rumours were flying and suspicions were raised about who was going to their death or who was killing who. Duo, in his time as a fighter, had only really been aware of a couple of times that the death fights might have been happening. Kerrigan kept it close and it was all so cloaked in secrecy and only when a few guys didn't come back to the barracks did it become clear. But Duo had never got close enough. And as he finished eating whatever the hell the slop on his plate was, he was aware he had one in – and fuck if it wasn't Milliardo Peacecraft, Kerrigan's buddy. The man he'd kneed in the balls for sticking his tongue in his mouth. Life was always a complete and utter motherfucking bitch.

He said goodbye to Kerrigan's men, depositing his tray on the way out and tried to figure out how to find Milliardo. It became apparent this was easier than he thought – Milliardo had made himself enough of a reputation around the barracks and it didn't take much to get some directions – a few black market items he'd acquired slipped into a few hands and that led him to Milliardo. Duo had scoped the place when he'd first arrived, found that Kerrigan and his few elite men had a separate accommodation area that he assumed the bosses and financiers and managers had when the colony had been about providing workers to building projects.

Milliardo's room was located in this area and with a few more cigarettes he got past a few more guards until he was at a door he didn't want to go in. Duo hated owing people shit, hated asking people for something and damn, he fucking hated begging but he needed an in.

'Suck it up,' he thought, as he knocked on the door and Milliardo opened it, a hint of surprise on his face shown by a quirk of lips.

"Come in," he offered, smoothly with an unnecessary flourish of his hand.

The room was nothing like Duo's own accommodation, the military grade bunk, the sheets still stained with cum and sweat, the four metallic walls. It seemed these rooms were intended for those in charge, those who had power unlike the powerless criminal fighters and the gang members. Blue eyes couldn't help drifting towards a double bed, a desk, a small sitting area and he saw a tablet computer resting on the armrest of a couch. He took it in, calculating that maybe if he could play along a little with Milliardo it might be worth it. Might get him off this shithole earlier. Might get Heero off it before he completely shut down.

"Take a seat," Milliardo offered.

"I'd rather stand."

"Suit yourself."

Milliardo took a seat and moved the tablet, shutting down whatever had been on the screen with swift fingers. The act made Duo more curious than if he'd just left it and he assumed that Milliardo, unlike Kerrigan's gang, had been granted some access to an external communication server. And Milliardo's room was a lot easier to get into than Kerrigan's or the main central hub of the colonies electronics.

"I was kinda hoping you'd walk funny for a week," Duo said, stepping further into the room and folding his arms across his chest.

"A few hours… hardly a challenge."

"Huh. You always have a comeback?"

"I could say the same thing of you."

"Well, snappy comebacks are kinda my thing."

"Always have to get the last word in?"

"Fuck yeah."

Milliardo laughed and Duo didn't like it – he couldn't read the guy and sure as hell didn't know all his motivations for being in this place. Yeah, because he didn't belong in a corner office or something was not a valid reason to Duo and Milliardo wasn't fighting in the cages to get out his soldierly aggression. Nothing but their own little fight that could barely be called a fight.

"I want you to get me in on Friday."

"You want to accompany me," Milliardo stated, a clear look of smug humour on his face at the request.

"Accompany you? Where the fuck do you think we are? I'm not some chick you are inviting to a spring ball."

It was a stupid mistake to ask Milliardo, he realised, as it gave him too much power and there was still no guarantee of what he was going to do. Duo turned to leave, he'd find another way and not rely on a former enemy.

"I am more than aware of who you are," he said and had risen to his feet. "And I can get you in but you will do this my way."

There was the temptation to just walk away and say fuck it but Duo reluctantly turned around and faced the imposing figure.

"Lemme hear your fucking way."

And that was how he ended up here, with Milliardo touching his goddamned ass, on his first Friday night death fight.

The place was totally different than Saturday night. It wasn't full of the usual clientele, the sweaty captains, the spacers, the heavies with tattoos and the criminals using this as a stopover and safe haven. There was an air of civility and it was the first time he'd seen a quantity of women around – Kerrigan must've had them shipped in, Duo figured, as they walked around wearing tiny black shorts and tops that pretty much amounted to a strip of fabric across their breasts. They carried trays of champagne and the usual heat of the place didn't seem too bad – the amount of bodies severely reduced and most of the men stood in the VIP area, not in the usual lower levels around the cage. The chicks were not harassed, only leered at by men at least double their ages – Milliardo was definitely the youngest among the guests and he didn't seem to much appreciate the women's lack of clothing – but Duo supposed he was more interested in fucking a man than the women who would potentially fall willingly at his feet.

It was then Duo released he recognised one of the women, the nurse from night that Wade had died who didn't look the same in the tiny outfit and big hair and make-up. She gave him a look as she passed and Duo only blinked. If she was a trained nurse, it was kind of demeaning to be reduced to a slutty outfit and carrying a tray.

The piped music was not the usual harsh beat and the whole place seemed so unlike the world he'd been living in for over a damn year. And it was then he felt a hand pressing against the back pocket of his jeans again and it wasn't exactly a grope but Milliardo was pushing a button that he'd already been told not to but his response was quick and in his ear, close enough to feel breath.

"This is what you wanted," Milliardo said.

"Kerrigan's gonna go apeshit if he sees me."

"You're my guest – he'll do what I say. I can say I've had the pleasure of your company…"

The word pleasure was long and drawn out clearly insinuating how Duo was supposed to play this scene and he hated the blonde man even more. They'd agreed to it but still Duo didn't have to like it. They made their way up the stairs to the VIP area and Duo walked close enough to whisper.

"You're a fucking cunt."

"And you are positively charming."

"I swear if you touch my ass again I will break your hand."

"And I wouldn't expect anything less of you but tonight, if you want to remain here and actually give the Preventers some worthwhile intelligence then I would suggest you act appropriately. My way, remember?"

Duo snorted and ignored the tall man and decided it was best to swipe some alcohol as it passed otherwise he might actually use his fists to break Peacecraft's nose and shit, if he needed to be here and seeing who attended the fights. Milliardo followed suit and walked, garnering attention from the assembled politicians due to his visibility and instantly recognisable appearance. It really did stick out – being that blonde, being that tall and even though he dressed casually, shirt, jeans, he still looked like he belonged in a uniform and it made Duo want to ask why he remained so… distinctive considering he was spending his time among the criminal class. It didn't matter that Duo had kept his braid as he was fucking nobody – not the fallen Prince or whatever other nickname the press gave him.

They walked to the edge, the cage without its usual crowd surrounding it looked less intimidating and the night seemed at odds. He scanned the men milling around and some he recognised – senators seen in vid feeds, officials, businessmen – it was a time he wished he had access to some tech that would allow him to scan faces as the names were all hazy – pompous assholes who appeared spouting crap about the economy and peace were not something Duo spent his time off thinking about – he spent his time off trying to fight between his desire for Heero's touch and his fucking retarded fear of true intimacy and sticking around when things got too close to the damn bone.

"Why are you helping me?"

"I believe in mutually satisfactory arrangements. I get you in here, you get the intelligence the Preventers so want and when the time comes that you report back to Une then you deny all knowledge of me being here. You get what you want. I get what I want. Mutual satisfaction."

Milliardo downed the champagne, surprisingly, as Duo remembered being told once by Quatre that you were meant to sip it and it was the sort of shit a man like Peacecraft would know. He didn't like the words "mutual satisfaction" and certainly didn't like the power that Milliardo had in this situation.

"And what if I tell the Preventers you're here in a less than official capacity?"

"I tell Kerrigan you're a Preventer. I tell Kerrigan Heero's a Preventer. I tell him you are intimately acquainted. I imagine you both die or maybe one of you dies first and you watch the other die in front of your eyes. It would be poetic, I think, you both survive the war to die here…"

"Bastard."

"I'm not the nice guy here – I thought you were smart enough to work that out."

Duo grit his teeth and then downed his own champagne – remembering why he hated the stuff as bubbles and the unpleasant flavour combined and he wanted something else as he glanced down towards the cage.

It was then Kerrigan appeared and entered the cage, an unusual move, and there was a ripple of interest from the smartly dressed men around them. Kerrigan usually was a casual guy, as really, there was no reason to dress up on this shit hole of a colony and no one to impress but tonight he wore a suit, no tie and he was playing master of ceremonies.

"Tonight, gentleman, I would like to welcome you to the best fights in the Earth Sphere. Tonight, you will watch fights to the death." There wasn't a loud cheer, only a moment of interested murmurs. Duo would've been disappointed if he'd been giving the speech as the men didn't really seem to give a shit. "I advise you to place your bets wisely as we have new challengers tonight of a high calibre and some old favourites returning. You'll have to decide for yourself if their sponsor's can be trusted."

A light, amused chuckle filtered through the crowd and a few of the men had decided to leave the VIP area. They started to filter to the edge of the cage where the usual crowds would be baying for blood but Milliardo didn't move so Duo followed his lead, leaning over the side of the railing and watching from the vantage point it allowed.

"Tonight's fighters!"

Unlike the usual fights where the fighters were kept separate from the crowd, it seemed that Kerrigan wanted to show off his wares to the betting crowd – a crowd who could probably place more money on one single bet than all the men combined on a usual night and there were two rows of benches set up alongside the wall. Duo knew fighters were a damn weird bunch – people could be anything from superstitious to fucking crazy, and people had rituals and ways of preparing for fights – little routines. And this disrupted that, making them sit and watch other fighters get killed before their own round in the cage – seemed a little cruel. Kerrigan left the cage as the door opened and Duo recognised the fighters entering – men he'd seen for all the time on this shit hole – men who all were higher bracketed and veterans.

It wasn't until the door closed that Duo saw _him._

" – the fuck...?"

It was then he felt Milliardo's hand touching his shoulder and his face too close to the side of his own, blond hair brushing him and hot breath, his lips making the barest of contact on his skin.

"Thought this would interest you."


	12. Chapter 12

Heero didn't particularly care to be paraded around like a peacock. Well, in fact, he fucking hated it. He tolerated it when Relena required it because it was her and he loved her in his own way and clearly he would move heaven and earth for the people he loved.

He would kill for the people he loved.

But in this case he didn't mind standing before all those sleazy ass motherfuckers. He stared at the crowd and he recognized too damn many of them. He had shook their hands, stared at them on video feeds, knew their names and titles and he memorized each goddamned face so that he could recall it for his report, recall it so that they could be arrested and brought to trail for supporting this base crime against humanity.

Kerrigan spoke but Heero didn't hear a damn word as his eyes landed on the last two people he'd ever expected to be there, let alone together, let alone with their skin touching.

This had gone far enough. _Way_ too fucking far.

He watched as Duo closed his eyes and Milliardo's lips whispered across his cheek. Milliardo was Relena's brother, a fellow Preventer agent, a high-ranking Preventer agent at that, someone who Heero respected, at least, and Milliardo damn well _knew_ Duo was _his_. Damn well knew their relationship and their history and knew to keep his hands off. Why he was here, Heero wasn't sure. If he was here as an undercover operative it seemed like overkill and it seemed damned foolish but then if he wasn't here as an operative why the fuck _was_ he here?

And Duo... Duo wasn't supposed to see him here, wasn't supposed to know that he was prepared to kill. He'd be mad, he'd be worried, he'd... The only thing his mind could supply was a picture of Milliardo with his hands in Duo's hair and his mouth on his and Heero's fists clenched so hard they ached and he forced his eyes back to the other men in the room, forced himself to memorize each face to erase the vision he didn't want – didn't need – couldn't fucking live with.

It wasn't that Heero thought Duo would betray him for Milliardo. No. His faith was far deeper than that. He didn't doubt Duo. He _never_ fucking doubted Duo. It was that he was prepared to kill for Duo, to save him, to get them off this god forsaken shit sack. If Heero was prepared to kill, what was Duo prepared to do if he thought he had to? Was Duo prepared to sleep with Milliardo? Duo wasn't a slut, but Heero wasn't a killer. And although he only understood it in a distant way through the lens of his own bent emotions, he understood that it had hurt Duo to see him in that bunker and he understood that Duo wouldn't let him go back there and he understood that his recent actions would seem like he was retreating into himself because he was but it wasn't like that. It wasn't like the bunker and the ration bars and the beard and the filth. But he couldn't explain it. They had no time, they had no privacy, they had nothing here but were forced to plan based on assumptions of another man's perspective that was completely different than their own and it fucking sucked.

Heero hated this mission. He hated wondering if Milliardo was already balls deep up Duo's ass and he hated wondering if Duo enjoyed it. It had been weeks since they rolled against one another in the slick humidity of Duo's room and Duo gave him damn near nothing during training and Heero couldn't guess what he was thinking, always sucked at that, and Duo knew it. He wondered how long Duo had known about Milliardo being here. He wondered how long they'd been fucking.

 _"No one since you, baby."_ Duo's voice, husky, full of need and longing. Heero wondered if that was still true.

Luckily as a newcomer he was in one of the first rounds so he wasn't forced to sit there and watch Duo with Milliardo, his perverted hands on Duo's neck, brushing down his braid, resting on his arm like he was a damn whore only there for his pleasure. And thank fucking god because if his imagination was anywhere close to reality he wasn't sure he could stop himself from climbing up into the stands and beating the living _fuck_ out of Milliardo whether he was Relena's brother or not.

He was announced by stage name only as he stepped into the cage, assuring some level of privacy for men who'd likely crossed paths with the powerful figures watching them from outside the mesh during the war. Despite the fact that Kerrigan wanted men to die tonight, he didn't want his best fighters being picked off by angry politicians with lofty bank accounts and friends in the assassin business.

When Heero took the cage he noted the placard hanging on a board mounted on the cage post in his corner. The placard had a painted picture of a mask, wing tipped at the ends with slits for eyes – and he looked over at his opponent's corner and saw the same oversized placard with a ram's head painted on. He looked up at the crowd and saw suddenly that men were smiling and nodding in Milliardo's direction and Milliardo was grinning like a goddamned serpent, waving that coy little one handed tip of a wave the rich employed and he was sure it wasn't because he was rich so much as because he wanted to keep his other hand on Duo's arm – and _fuck_ but Heero wanted to break that hand.

He shook when he noted the lapel pin Milliardo wore that matched the symbol on his placard and he realized with startling clarity that he had been set up. His first night in the cage Kerrigan had called Milliardo his friend and Heero thought it presumptuous but it wasn't. He was Milliardo's bitch. Heero had Milliardo's dick equally as far up his ass as Duo, he just didn't know it until right then. Oh sure, it was easy for Milliardo to get him in because he was Milliardo's goddamned fighter. These fights were personal for the men attending. They vetted and had their own men trained up just to die and it made him sick to realize he was going to have to kill a pawn. An opponent that didn't want to be here. An opponent who may have had no choice. What did his sponsor demand of him? What war crime would be wiped clean if he competed? What debt did he owe? At least Wade chose this life willingly, misguided though he was. Heero doubted any of the men here had a choice.

Fury rocked through every nerve ending in Heero's body and he forgot about getting Duo out and he forgot about locking down his emotions and he forgot about the mission and the bunker and the whole damned series of events that lead to this one moment in his life and all he wanted to do was climb up into that seating, rip Milliardo's filthy fucking hand from Duo and beat the shit out of him. Everything they'd experienced together during the war, all the respect he'd had for him vanished in a horrifying, crushing instant and he felt cold.

If this was what Milliardo became post-war, if he could rationalize this kind of behaviour somehow to himself, was Heero not any better than that? Was he equally disgusting when viewed from the outside?

But he didn't have time to consider that, didn't have time to think. He looked across at his opponent, a man he'd seen in the gym many times. Maybe a few years older than Heero, a bit more bulky, a pretty good opponent, fought well from everything Heero saw, but he was scared. He was so fucking scared of him it hurt. Heero saw the way he looked at him in the gym, in the locker room, hell in the goddamn bunks when he walked by. Saw the fear in his eyes, saw the way they shone with terror when Heero stepped onto the mat in the gym, saw how he darted to the other side immediately – putting as much space between himself and Heero as possible.

And now, here he was, standing in front of him, his terror peaking and practically rolling off of him in waves so palpable Heero thought he might suffocate. He knew this was the end. He knew he was going to die here and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about that. Heero didn't want to do it this way. He didn't want to kill a man who knew he was about to die. He sure as _hell_ didn't want to kill for Milliardo.

When the bell rang he didn't pause, didn't hesitate, he sped towards his opponent before the man could even respond, his terror freezing him in place. And with the most gentle, kind hands he could manage and the dedicated, deliberate skill of someone who'd killed his first man at age five, he snapped his opponent's neck. Heero felt his body go limp instantly and he let him down easy, some fucking pathetic attempt at honouring the dead or something. He stared up at those men, the collective silence of shock, and he watched as suddenly the entire room erupted in a mix of horror, elation, and outrage.

It took a minute – took too damned long – for someone to come and escort him out of the ring. And when they finally did it was too late – way too damned late – for the look in Duo's eyes had already seared itself into his retinas and it haunted him all the way back to the empty patch-up room.

He slammed his fist into the flimsy metal wall and the poorly constructed piece of shit actually bent under his wrath. He shouldn't fucking be here. Une should've known better. He couldn't handle this shit. Couldn't handle turncoats and death and fuck – Duo. Couldn't handle trying to be partners with him like this, now, now that they were involved – couldn't handle fucking up their relationship even further to make this assignment work. He realized when he saw that look – Duo was more important to him than this or Une or Preventer or any-other-fucking-thing and even if their relationship wasn't perfect and even if some goddamned pamphlet described it as abusive and even if they could never be anything more than a couple weeks of fucking every few months – none of that mattered because as long as it made Duo happy, as long as it made Duo _happy_...

Heero came to suddenly and he was staring absently at the wall as his thoughts deteriorated into the startling realization that this was _love_. Yes, he'd thought it before, never corrected the assumptions of others, and assumed it was himself, but it wasn't until that very moment that he realized what that word truly meant.

As long as Duo was happy.

But Duo wasn't happy. Duo wasn't happy here, with this, on this assignment. And Heero hardened his heart against the fact that he'd just killed a man in cold blood as Milliardo's pawn because it didn't matter. The plan stayed. He had to get Duo out of here. Get him away from this shit hole and away from the bastard Milliardo and try to make him happy again.

Fuck if the last part didn't sound impossible. Heero had no idea how he was supposed to make him happy. Just when he thought he'd succeeded, Duo would always run.

"Hey, Heero."

He turned suddenly at the unfamiliar sound of a woman's voice and was met with a slender chick dressed in next to nothing with a furtive look in her eyes. His brows narrowed in irritation and confusion at her but she didn't flinch. Must be used to assholes, Heero thought bleakly.

"Your trainer –"

"Tell him to go fuck himself," Heero shot back quickly, immediately trying to put distance between them. What the fuck was Duo thinking? Attending this fight with Milliardo – he'd be completely fucked if Kerrigan saw him – and then sending messages by serving wench to him after the fight? Jesus Christ, they were doomed to fail. This whole damn mission, doomed to fail.

"He's worried about you." She tried to touch him but he stalked towards the door before she could. For some dumb fuck reason that didn't dissuade her and she followed him out in the corridor.

"Go back before you get caught," Heero commanded with an air of authority he didn't have but she had to know how stupid she was being. Surely Kerrigan's orders overrode anything Duo would say. Why the hell did women never think? They always seemed to be disobeying orders, disrupting expectations, causing all kinds of fucking problems.

"He just –"

"I'm _fine_ ," Heero emphasized. She paused and studied him for a minute but to Heero's relief she didn't say anything else. She just nodded a moment and left, leaving Heero pent up and frustrated again.

He wanted to beat the shit out of something – but Duo knew he'd want that, knew he'd want to go to the gym, knew he would find him there. He _really_ wanted Duo but he wanted to go somewhere Duo wouldn't find him – wouldn't harass him with questions and worries and blow their cover. Take him back to his room. Fuck him senseless in that humid box until everything smelled like cum and sweat and sex and Heero groaned, a pathetic sound in the back of his throat, and with the adrenaline coursing through his veins just remembering the smell made him hard.

He wanted a shower – and not a fucking cold one either – and he found his feet moving in that direction despite himself. If Duo found him in the showers, well...

And Duo did find him there – at least in the privacy of Heero's mind as he quickly jerked off to the thought of Duo touching him, sucking him, fucking him up against that tiled wall while the tepid water turned cold.


	13. Chapter 13

Duo didn't watch the rest of the death fights, saw enough from the early round and Heero's clean and effective break of the neck to not need to see anymore. Milliardo had made a comment about being a bad date and expecting at least a good night kiss for his troubles while Duo tried not to throw his fist into his smug face. It was too fucking tempting as he'd seen Heero look up and he _had_ to look up when Milliardo was being handsy, when Milliardo was playing the role of perverted politician with an interest in pretty boys with long hair. But fuck – Duo didn't think he was playing that role as he was pretty sure that if he was damn willing, Milliardo would want him in his bed and have his cock down Duo's throat. And Heero had to look then – Duo thought angrily – had to look and he had to see those blue eyes cloud over with a rage that Heero rarely displayed.

Fuck. He was always so literal. That was always Heero's problem. Duo knew how his brain worked and that if he saw Duo with Milliardo's hands all over him – Heero would already have the play by play account in his head running on cycles in his brain and he would see Duo being dominated and touched and fucked by a man that wasn't him and it would fire up that jealousy that Heero always had. Oh hell, maybe it wasn't jealousy but sometimes Heero didn't _fucking_ understand why Duo came back to him – why he fought and pushed and brought him back out of that bunker.

That Heero didn't understand that he loved him. Fucked as it was, Duo could never get away from the fact he loved him. Denied it plenty of times to himself. Never admitted out loud to Heero, not even in those moments when they were inseparable and it was like a drug to be touched by calloused fingers and it was the only time he'd felt _anything_ real and that meant shit in the fucked up history that was his life. And he hated Heero from the deepest part of his soul for making him love him – or whatever he'd done – and he hated himself for falling in love with a man that things could never be simple with.

He felt like he should see Heero after he killed someone without flair or thought but when the chick came back to him she'd repeated his words – go fuck himself. And with that, Duo figured it was as good an option as any – avoiding the rest of the fights to be alone in his room, the steel box that felt like a trap and he thought about Heero – about his mouth pressed against the back of his neck, about a hand trailing down his stomach, about his own arms twisted back around Heero's neck, the feel of soft hair and leaning back into that rock hard torso as a firm hand tugged at his cock, the rhythm fast, and his own hand didn't feel anything like Heero's but it was enough – the fantasy of Heero's firm touch, the idea that they were somewhere else – a million miles away – bringing him to climax quickly, cum spurting in a hot arc over clothes and his hand and leaving him on the bed a little breathless.

It only reiterated how fucked they were, that he couldn't seek Heero out in the darkness of the colony and offer physical comfort, he could only jerk himself off thinking of a past version or a version that didn't even exist. He didn't even know.

He watched the Saturday night fights with a clear detachment – watched as Heero was bracketed down a little but not quite as low – but he didn't warn him this time as Heero should've learnt. And he won, playing up a little more, letting the skittish fighter, the Cobra or something, get a few punches in before ending it finally with a knockout that was controlled and contained – stuck around only long enough to see that fight and escaped to Milliardo's room to make contact with the Preventers and leaving the simple cryptic messages that it was soon. That soon they'd have enough. One more death fight had to be enough. For him, for Heero, for whatever fucked up morality they had left.

They didn't outright avoid one another the week after but some fresh meat arrived and with it Kerrigan thought that Heero had finally proven himself to be a more than capable fighter and Duo's services were needed elsewhere. He took that news as he should.

"Thank fuck I don't have to work with that asshole."

Kerrigan had only smiled at him and the smile was unsettling. Didn't know if Kerrigan knew something or thought he did but Duo didn't like it. Every fucking day on the colony was making him feel worse about the entire mission – like it was the calm before a storm or something and being a colony boy, storms were a strange phenomenon that he didn't like.

It took days for them to be alone again and it happened as Duo expected. Well, perhaps, not quite, as he didn't expect to be jumped after pissing and for it to be in the small bathrooms with the stalls covered in years' worth of fighters' graffiti – the sort of bathroom that you didn't think about what you were walking through but Duo had been in worse place. He supposed that people may consider him a damn optimist but having had the breaks that he had – shit had to be truly bad for him to complain about something. Being followed around by death, being homeless and parentless and having nothing, made having something more valuable and it was probably why he held on so damn tight to Heero.

Duo may not have expected the location but he expected the hands around his throat. It was as though Heero had been waiting to do it – he'd seen it in his gaze when their eyes met across the gym or the mess and he couldn't be reassuring in a glance and to be fair the whole thing made him pissed. Heero was killing people in this fucked up mission. And he was being made into the bad guy because he was using the fact Milliardo was _in_ and maybe using the fact Milliardo would fuck him if he had the chance.

The hands around his throat were tighter than he anticipated and his head was pushed against the metal of the door, effectively stopping anybody from coming in to piss. Duo instinctively scrambled and clawed at those tight hands and kicked out at shins or feet or anything but Heero was always stronger and plus he was angry – those things mixed together were like a Molotov cocktail.

"How long have you been fucking him?"

He was prepared for the accusation but then maybe not the venom that it was said with. The hands on his windpipe made it impossible to respond but then maybe Heero didn't want a response but hell, he had one. That Heero needed to understand that he'd never fucking cheat – that despite the fact he bailed when he felt trapped he'd never fucked anyone other than Heero and he never would unless it was damn over. Always, he always had opportunities, could find a willing body and flirt and be charming and knew techniques of how to get someone into bed – male or female – but he hadn't and he _wouldn't_. That he didn't bring Heero out of the bunker, didn't spend a year of his life making him rediscover reasons to live – hadn't devoted himself to the man currently with his hands around his throat – to fuck it up on some sleazy assed blonde dick.

His head was pushed back hard against the metal and Duo felt like he could see damn stars and could feel the world beginning to white out around his periphery – that he couldn't see those intense blue eyes or that handsome face currently showing more emotions than he think he'd ever seen Heero display.

"Tell me, is he better? A better fuck than me? Does he make you feel good?"

The grip loosened ever so slightly as each question was punctuated by his head being pushed back against the metal but it was as though whatever anger was beginning to dissipate. They left his neck completely and Duo took a deep breath, leaning over, and rubbing at where he could feel the imprint of fingers and he heard more than saw the sound of a fist smashing the glass of the already cracked mirrors over the dirty sinks.

"I am not fucking him," he said, each word drawn out slowly. "I have never fucked anyone but you."

He didn't use any slang, being careful over every damn word as though by saying it clearly it would enter Heero's thick skull and maybe he'd understand that it hurt to be thought that little of – to be willing to fuck his way to completing a mission or to betray Heero like it never meant shit. Maybe Heero didn't know him well enough – but, hell, that would be his damn fault for all the running and all the walking away.

Both could take the blame in this mess they called a relationship. The war ravaged, bar brawl version of a romance by two people who barely knew what it meant.

Duo looked up to see Heero hunched over those sinks and he saw the blood on both the broken glass and on the knuckle that gripped porcelain too tight.

"Jesus, 'Ro, you're bleeding."

He walked the few steps towards him and took hold of the bleeding hand, seeing some glass embedded and thinking like a fighter and a trainer again – it would hurt like a bitch to throw a punch for a few days. Heero flinched from his touch and jerked away, taking a step back and it was a clear moment of rejection if Duo had ever seen one.

"Why?" Heero asked, his eyes not meeting Duo's.

"Why what?"

"Why do you keep coming back?" Heero's gaze lifted. "You've been following me since we were fifteen. I don't understand why you keep coming back to me."

"'Cos I fuckin' love you, asshole."

The words were big enough and strange enough to come out of his mouth if they were in Sanc, if they were in the honeymoon stage – if they were drinking each other in like alcoholics. In the piss covered bathroom of this piece of shit colony, it was even stranger. The words were like a shotgun blast and the look of shock on Heero's face proved that the words were big.

Duo continued, if he was saying this shit then he might as well say it all. "Maybe I always fucking did. Maybe it damn took you goin' into that shithole for me to realise but fuck, I've known since then, and it _scares_ me, Heero. Damn it, I never wanted shit to be like this. I never wanted to be in love with you."

Heero just stared, his face now unreadable and Duo realised more than ever that this was the wrong time to be saying this – the stupidest thing he could do was to admit he had fucking feelings in this violent and dangerous world and it was going to make them reckless or get them killed or something.

It was even more reckless to step forward, running the pad of his thumb over Heero's jaw, feeling the stubble there as it seemed Heero had stopped giving a shit in this place and leaned forward to get some reaction – he couldn't deal with Heero blocking him out, shutting down and going back deep inside himself as it hadn't been the bunker that had been the problem all along. It had been that Heero closed down. And Duo couldn't deal with him like that.

Their lips clashed hard and he thought that this was Heero's way of reacting to the words – those words – that little four letter word that was overused most of the damn time but never had been between them. Hell, Duo didn't expect or want them back but he wanted whatever Heero would give him and if it was a brutal kiss and being pushed back into a toilet stall, then he'd take it.

His back met the wall of the stall and the metal seemed to be flimsy or damn cheap as he almost felt like it bowed under their combined strength. It was totally different to have those hands hold him hard against the stall wall when Heero's tongue was deep inside his mouth, his head tilted, gripping him tight but not in violence, not with intent to harm but instead with a need, a possessiveness as Heero needed to reassert something now. Burn away that stupid fucking idea in his head of Milliardo and Duo just had to bend to that need. This maybe was the damn intense version of Heero that did scare him but right now, he rode the intensity, thrusting his hips against Heero's, friction and heat and hard dicks meeting through material.

The hand in his training shorts made him moan into the kiss and he tried to move his own hand to respond but he wasn't allowed to, felt a low growl against his lips and Heero's head moved back, running his tongue unconsciously along his lips in a way that seemed so fucking hot without him realising. Duo saw the look in Heero's eyes, the way those blue eyes looked so hard at him, as his breathing became shallow, his eyes fluttered as a callused thumb rubbed over slit and each deliberate quick motion brought him closer to the edge. Somehow it wasn't just the damn hand working over his cock that was bringing him close to coming, it was that Heero maintained eye contact and watched him, every reaction as though trying to imprint something on his mind and Duo tried to meet that gaze but fuck if he could as he felt that familiar rush and he didn't say anything thinking it would break whatever the hell this moment was between them.

Shit, if he wasn't going to say anything but he couldn't help the half-hearted groan escaping his lips, Heero's mouth meeting his own again to take those noises as he felt white hot release coat that hand and fingers and shorts. He, again, attempted to reach out, to take Heero's dick in his hand or blow him despite the piss stained floors but he was blocked from making that movement – a sticky hand wrapped around his wrist as Heero's lips left his own.

"Heero?"

There was a look on his face that Duo couldn't figure out – still struggled to understand those expressions, he could be thinking about anything for all Duo knew – about what he'd said, about the mission, about any traumatic shit from a past of killing and violence.

"I love you."

Duo just blinked, his own brain orbiting somewhere the fuck around the colony where debris and garbage and whatever else floating was and blamed the whole just coming thing for the inarticulate noise that came from his mouth then – it may have been a "huh" but it wasn't even that articulate.

Heero repeated the three words that made him realise how truly fucked they were. "I love you."

He wanted to laugh – that it took this, being _here_ in this damn place, to be standing in a toilet stall, to be in the middle of a mission where Heero had killed two people for them to admit something to each other but he stifled it. It was ironic or something or maybe it said something about them. They'd never have a conventional relationship, never have rings or mortgages or shared bank accounts or his and his fucking robes or whatever the hell people had in normal, everyday relationships but they loved each other. And it had to be enough. That they could survive this place, that they could take Kerrigan down and they could do it because they needed to be away from here and try and work out something better. Not a conventional relationship but maybe one where Duo stayed in the same place and didn't run and hide. Fuck, if he knew how to do it but to be able to do it they had to get out of here. Complete the mission.

"We need to finish this shit… we can't stay in this place – it's fucking killing us."

Heero nodded and his body moved back from Duo's, making him want to protest at the loss of that warmth and solidity as Heero leaned back on the other side of the wall and the whole sexual energy was gone making Duo realise he needed to readjust his shorts and ignore the new stains.

"I need one more death fight. I recognised most of the men."

The tone wasn't the one that said those three simple words, it was all mission shit and Duo couldn't help the slight sting in his gut at knowing that Heero needed to detach again to survive in this place.

"One more fight, 'Ro, then we blow this shit stall open."


	14. Chapter 14

Happy. Happy is such a weird word when you've spent so long pondering it that just the sound of it echoing through your brain became some warped, twisted conglomeration of dual syllabic confusion. Happy. Ha-Pee. Hap-Ee. Happy.

It seemed a cruel realization. It seemed silly. It seemed impossible. How was he supposed to make Duo happy when he didn't understand the meaning of the word?

He was sure there was more to it, but the closest he ever felt to happy – or his approximation based mostly on other people's testimony, visible examples and textbook definitions – was with Duo inside him or under him or fuck just next to him, with his arms around him, with his laughter ringing in his ear, with those silent moments of intensity, with his physical contact. He didn't know how to say it, didn't know how to explain his realization, but then Duo said it for him and – and... He just wanted something, to give him something. The pain in his voice, Heero understood. It was the same pain he felt when Duo was gone, the same pain he felt when he realized how woefully inadequate a partner, a lover, a fucking _human being_ he was and how Duo deserved better and maybe he would stay around for someone better and he wouldn't have to run and he wouldn't have to hide but _god damn it all_ Heero just wanted to make him happy but he didn't know how. He just didn't know how.

And he tried, _fuck it_ but he tried. And fuck if even he realized how fucked he was, jerking a man off in a filthy bathroom stall and that was his approximation of love? Relena would have a fit. Relena, his trusted confidante in all matters of love and Duo, would certainly never have approved of that method of self-expression. But he watched Duo's eyes, watched as emotions he could only hazard to guess swirled through them and he saw what he wanted to see and maybe hearing those totally unexpected words straight form Duo's lips made him stupid, made him more optimistic than he had any right to be, but as he watched he realized that confused mass of jumbled feelings was just a reflection of everything inside of him and when Duo came he felt Duo's orgasm crash over him and wash through him and leave him clean. New. At peace with himself for one tiny, little, fleeting moment and so the truth was easy to speak. For once, he felt he had the right to say those words because they were genuine and pure and yes, maybe harsh in their juxtaposition to their physical location but in the clean, white temple of his heart they resounded until their maddening reverberation could no longer be contained.

He was quite sure his shrink would love that bit of self-analysis to chew on.

But that just made his personal mission to get Duo the hell outta there all the more imperative. Duo was right. Duo knew it and he was right. This assignment, this place, it was too much. Though he was loath to admit it, the proximity of it all was becoming unbearable and despite himself he was finding he couldn't cope without the wall. The constant threat of someone fucking with him had him on edge constantly – the goddamned paranoia creeping in so close he could feel the relentless breathing on the back of his neck. He needed Duo and he couldn't have him. He needed his space, his familiarity, his routine. He needed his therapist for fucks sake, he _needed_ that shit and without it the insanity was creeping back in, it's jagged fingers scratching at his heart, digging perilously into the soft tissue of his brain until every night he listened to every breath and every shift and every grunt and every goddamned hand scratching sweaty balls of the hundred or so men in the room with wide eyed horror as he fought the desire with less and less resolve to curl up in a corner and hide.

Luckily, he didn't need much sleep to function.

Luckily, he still had Duo's shirt, still smelling faintly of him, somehow managing to cling to the last vestiges of his musk, and he could lay it on his pillow and lose himself in the familiarity for just a brief moment...

"You!"

Heero's head snapped to one of Kerrigan's men pointing a finger at him. Heero recognized him as being one of the "inner circle," so to speak. He approached at a quick clip and grabbed Heero's upper arm tight. Heero radiated anger and it took every inch of willpower in him not to deck the fucker on contact.

The man sidled up close to him, his lips practically touching Heero's ear and he fought back revulsion at the stench of his breath. "The Merquise wants to see his merchandise."

For a moment Heero wondered if this guy was ex-OZ or some shit and forced down his frustration at his treatment in favour of finally getting the one thing he'd been wanting ever since he saw Milliardo on the colony. Unfortunately despite the fact that the fighters and trainers around him usually knew if Milliardo was on or off colony, their intel was almost always hours if not days off and didn't go much further than that. No one ever knew where he was, or where he roomed, or anything even remotely useful so he was stuck waiting for an opportunity to see him. He hated being relegated to such a useless role in this mission – his ability to do much of anything meaningful was stifled by the fact that he had to be amongst a bunch of ignorant fucks.

He allowed himself to be lead from the mess hall to Kerrigan's office where Milliardo was waiting alone. One thing he didn't anticipate was the overwhelming urge to throttle the other man on sight. Or at least crush his goddamned fingers for touching Duo in such a fucking slutty way.

Once the door was shut and they were merely two feet from each other Heero found words to contrast Milliardo's little smirk.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" They were hard, intentionally, meant to assault the other man with their force. Milliardo just chuckled.

"Ahhh, sissy's little pet," he mused in a belittling tone, "don't be mad at me. It's classified."

"You sent me in here as your fighter and you weren't able to tell me?" It didn't seem right. Heero's scowl deepened. It was dangerous, stupid, not much like Preventer.

"I didn't think it would come to that." The words were smooth as silk. "I thought Duo would get you both out of here by now."

"Why don't you?" Heero shot back, frustration mounting. Milliardo had to know all those people. He should've been able to shut this thing down before it even began. Over a year without Duo... and he was starting to blame the asshole sitting right in front of him. Anger swept through him in a hot wash but he managed to keep his hands from trembling.

Milliardo snorted derisively. "How could I do that, Heero? I'm the one who brought this whole little situation to the attention of Preventer in the first place. It wouldn't be very good now, would it, to have me take down all of my friends. Une certainly didn't think so. It was her call to send Duo in. It's not my fault your little fuck buddy can't get his act together."

The flippant way Milliardo referred to their relationship and Duo left Heero's nails biting cruelly into his palms.

"Oh, that's right – you _love_ him, don't you?" The way Milliardo's lips quirked up made Heero want to smack the smirk right off his face. "Do you even know what that word means? Are you even capable of that emotion? I had once thought you had a strong heart – but I was wrong. Seeing you with her every day, wandering after her like a lost puppy, that painful look in your eyes whenever he's away – it _disgusts_ me." His lips arched from his teeth as if the word 'disgust' itself revolted him. "You could be so much more than you are, but instead you let the war crush you and leave you a snivelling brat."

Although the words were less than flattering, Heero found his anger giving way to confusion. The depth of emotion in the other man's accusations was startling – if not a little disconcerting. Heero had personally never thought of himself as anything more than a flawed individual with a particular amount of dedication that other's lacked. Well, and a lot of specialized training and some genetic alteration, clearly, but no different than anyone else at his core. It almost seemed as if he'd personally betrayed Milliardo somehow and he didn't understand it. Of all people, Milliardo should understand him best – the expectations thrust on him by external forces nothing like the reality of who he was.

"What happened on Mars?"

The unexpected question snapped in the silence of the room and Milliardo stood suddenly, staring down at Heero in an act of intimidation.

"I fail to see what that has to do with anything."

"You've changed too." Heero paused. Crossed his arms over his chest. Glared back, unfazed. "Noin." Just her name and his pupils fucking dilated. Heero bit back a smirk. "You truly _loved_ her, didn't you?" His lips twitched. Oh, such a tiny movement, compulsive, and Heero caught it. "But she didn't understand, did she? Just like your sister never understood me." The lower lip trembled just slightly and Heero's words were slow, almost teasing, smug in his certainty. "Noin never took a life. Noin is perfect, pure. Noin could never love you if she knew who you really were, how damaged you really are, isn't that right? Noin –"

"Enough!" Milliardo slammed his hands down hard on the desk in front of him, staring down at it with trembling fingers, blond hair slipping over his shoulders and stroking against the flimsy metal.

Heero made a nose of disgust in the back of his throat. "I pity you. I have the best of both worlds. The friendship of a woman I admire and love and the affection of a man who understands me and wants me for who I truly am." Then he leaned forward, one hand resting over Milliardo's as the other grabbed under his throat, jerking his face up so their eyes met. His looked down at him piteously, Milliardo's blue eyes raw with hurt.

"Leave Duo the fuck alone," Heero snarled, his upper lip curling as he spat the words in his face. Instantly Milliardo's brows furrowed in anger and a hand came up and tightened over Heero's wrist. "Leave him the fuck alone, or I will make it so you couldn't touch him even if you wanted to."

Milliardo sniggered as Heero released him. "You don't trust him."

"I don't trust you," Heero restated for him as he straightened and they appraised each other like warring lions. "You broke a long tradition of pacifism to get revenge and acted as if a persona would protect you from the prosecution you deserve. I don't know what you could justify to yourself in the absence of your morality." Heero's eyes narrowed. "And I understand, because you and I are exactly the same. So, let me reiterate, stay the _fuck_ away from him."

"That might be difficult when he's been sneaking into my room..." Milliardo practically purred as he studied the lack of dirt under his fingernails and Heero's heart hit his stomach with a surprising thud. He knew Milliardo was a lying sack of shit when he wanted to be but – "Don't worry your jealous little head. I wasn't there. But he should be more careful, sending communication to Preventer on other people's devices..."

"It's _your_ device," Heero snarled back.

"Yes, it's a good thing I'm on your side, now isn't it?" Milliardo dismissed the conversation with a flourish of his hand. "Anyway, that's not why I called you in here. I just wanted to warn you not to interfere with my personal operative. She's been gathering intel for me here for a while and now that she and Duo have been formally introduced, I'm sure she will be working quite closely with him."

Heero didn't really like the sound of that. How many more people could be involved in this? It was frankly getting ridiculous.

"She's not with Preventer?"

Milliardo shook his head curtly. "No. She's mine. I needed a way to spy on Kerrigan while I couldn't be here. She was convenient."

"You converted her?" Heero glanced at him sceptically. "In the field?"

Milliardo snorted. An odd sound from such a noble man with such delicate features. "Imagine being a woman, here. She was easy. The promise of a way out and she was basically begging for it."

The crude words revolted Heero and he was sure his face showed it. "I don't know how much help she'll be this late in the game."

Milliardo quirked an eyebrow. "You are close."

Heero nodded a short affirmative. "If you change your mind and decide to be an upstanding citizen of the ESUN, your testimony would be beneficial."

The other man blinked in surprise before his mocking laugher rang out through the room. "Are you serious?"

Duo's words echoed in his head so hard they almost hurt. _You have a choice._

Milliardo did too. Didn't he? He didn't want to rat these men out, didn't want to lose his standing, his respect, his place amongst them. But they were all wrong and Milliardo was wrong too. He had a choice and he chose to accept this inhumane behaviour for over a year to protect himself. It was repulsive. And that repulsion extended to Heero too – and he knew it. They were exactly the same. Heero chose to kill just as Milliardo chose to let him kill.

Fuck if he didn't feel like throwing up.

"We all have a choice," he ground out as he swallowed back nausea. "Every day, we have a choice. You don't have to condone these men any more than I have to condone you."

Milliardo just pointed to the door. "We are done here."

Heero let his eyes slide dispassionately from Milliardo to the door and back before he turned to exit. Once in the lonely corridor, he felt the despairing void of his true nature, the uncanny and damn terrible similarities he always knew existed between them glaring and painful – more painful than anything he'd experienced so far in the cage. He wanted Duo, he wanted Relena, he wanted someone to tell him that he wasn't like that man, that he was a good person, that he could be moral, that he could make the right choice when it counted but he knew in the deepest corners of his heart that he couldn't be moral and he wouldn't make the right choice and that he wasn't a good person. Despite what the people who loved him may say, he knew – he _knew_ it wasn't true. Because he had a choice. And he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would chose to kill every motherfucker in this place just to bring Duo home.


	15. Chapter 15

The buzz of the tattoo gun was now barely noticeable. After two hours, the hum, the constant sound had become nothing more than background noise and the hints of pain had melded into something vague. Duo was aware that the multiple needles were penetrating his skin – the shading of the eagle that went from hip bone up his ribs, up to the wings that stopped just below his left nipple – but it had stopped being anything more than a small irritant. Except occasionally when the asshole who was inking his skin dug a little too deep, a brief moment when the needles seemed to hit bone and the feeling was of the needles knocking against it and it jolted him out of the comfortable position he was in.

"Got another hour," the guy, Rex, said, moving the needle from skin again, dipping the needles into black ink and wiping with the other hand the excess black ink and blood on his stomach.

"Just keep goin'," Duo replied, moved a little, putting both arms behind his head to raise his head up a little so that he could see the progress being made.

It didn't look bad from his position. It was a big damn piece but he figured back when he decided on the eagle, before Heero was on this fucking colony, that he might as well go big or go home. He laid his head back down, looking up at the metal ceiling of the infirmary, lying on the same damn gurney that Wade had been on as the needles entered skin again, the sweep of them across his ribs feeling sharp, cat scratches or the sorta pain felt from the quick sharp pain of metal entering skin – blades or flying debris from a Gundam cockpit. It was a pain he could deal with – easier than others.

The tattooists that visited the piece of shit colony did well off the fighters, trainers and the damn gang members. Could over charge for below par work, at least Rex was better than some of the fucking amateurish work he'd seen on some of the guys around the colony. He had enough shitty tattoos already – the prison one was fucking horrendous, the black inks already faded after only two years, think it was meant to be a spider above his nipple but couldn't really figure out what the smudge with lines around it was really meant to be.

The eagle was a choice he'd made when he'd seen the work – Rex's portfolio had the image, black and grey, wings outstretched and it had been nearly ten months since he'd stepped foot on earth, ten months since he'd left Heero when he had the first session and it just said something to him without knowing truly what the fuck it meant. He knew that it was symbolic of something – like his damn braid, like the priests outfit he'd worn for one war – but he couldn't figure why it damn spoke to him, even as he laid back for that first session, those first outlines. Could say it meant nothing but then it had wings, that they were fucking extinct, that it was the tattoo of choice for soldiers and ex-soldiers and an Americana thing that long since stopped fucking existing. Maybe it meant that he wanted to damn fly again – to pilot, to be off this shit stall of a colony and exist again rather than sneaking between undercover jobs and not be on the leash of the Preventers. Freedom. Something he'd never had. True damn freedom – with Heero by his side and they'd figure it out.

Maybe it was a fucking love letter to Heero – somewhere in his fucked up psyche associating wings with Heero during the war or maybe that eagles were damn effective predators. Though maybe not so much as they ended up extinct. Like they were. Not needed now – put into their own safe cages, keeping Duo busy on shitty assignments and keeping Heero tamed following around the princess. He sure as hell didn't know if it was about Heero and despite admitting those feelings, saying those words, he still felt like they had a helluva a long way to go. Loving someone didn't mean shit.

The last hour of inking came to an end, the gun stopped for a final time and Rex wiped off the blood and ink, letting him move, to sitting and the standing to look at the ink in the reflection of a small mirror that the tattooist kept with him.

The ink looked good despite the angry redness surrounding it, the size of the thing meaning that the details were pretty intricate. The eye of the bird looked out, a small white glint in it from those final bits of detail that Rex had done and maybe it was the fact it was a predator that had made Duo pick the thing. Maybe Milliardo was fucking right. That somewhere, subconsciously, he was still that killer and he'd do whatever needed to be done. Like Heero had done. Killed as that's what had to happen. He was damn sure they'd both have to kill a few times to get off this place, the next death fight would be coming up and then it had to be over. Had to be damn free.

"Thanks, man," he said, finding cash, the bills he'd earned and not spent from his time as a fighter and those that he earned being a trainer for Kerrigan.

The money wasn't good. Fighters got a lowly cut, hell, it was probably no more than ten per cent and that was the reason most of them stuck around. Not paid enough to get the fuck off the colony or those that did came back. Or if they didn't come back, Duo had the hunch they ended up in body bags. Those that came back spent whatever money they'd made on booze and whores and drugs and found them right back to where they started – needing cash and have no way of earning it. Instead, they went back to the piss and sweat smelling barracks and the cage. It was a fucking cycle.

"It's one of my best."

"You doin' more guys?"

"Got a few more – need a damn break. Three hours does fuck all for my back."

Duo smirked at the guy, as he grabbed the plastic wrap and tape to cover it. He raised his arms as Rex taped it up and then the guy excused himself to go get a smoke so that Duo could put a shirt or something on. Feeling tender and damn awkward due to the amount of skin the piece covered, he only grabbed the grey hoodie, shrugged it over his shoulders and not bothering to zip it up. The t-shirt he picked up, balling it up in his hands and he was about to exit and go back to his own room, training done for the day and to another night trying to figure out how the fuck to get off this colony when she walked through the door.

She'd been around before – when Wade died, during the death fight, giving Heero that message but she usually disappeared. Kept a low profile. She was a smart chick. The fighters really didn't need to see a pair of tits to make them into more of the animals that they already were.

"That looks like it might get infected," she said, a quirk of lips and a raise of one of her eyebrows.

"You always this cheery?"

"I was a nurse. I've seen blood poisoning and infected ink. Don't think someone like you'd risk it. Most of the guys on this colony are dumb as fuck. You ain't."

Duo raised one eyebrow at the comment. "Thanks, but really, I'm probably as dumb as them, yanno?"

"Rex is better than most. He might actually use sterile needles. Uses gloves. Smart choice." She walked towards him, a hand very close to the now plastic wrapped tattoo. "And least it looks like something. Meant to be an eagle?"

"Yeah."

"Least it kinda looks like that."

She squinted, cocking her head to one side in an exaggerated motion and Duo folded his arms and then realised it was a bad idea, the broken skin smarting from the hint of touch. Fuck, it would be a bitch to sleep. Glad for once that Heero wasn't in his room, that he couldn't possible touch it while he tried to sleep. As much as he usually craved his touch, right now the associated pain was enough to satiate that longing and for once be glad of the tiny damn box he called a home on the fucking piece of rusted metal.

"You gotta reason to be here, sweetheart?"

"I thought we were friends. I helped you get the message to your fighter. And friends help each other, don't they?"

"So I owe you now?"

"That's how this place works. Every one owes every one something."

Duo looked at her warily. Trust really wasn't his thing and she was known as Kerrigan's chick. Fuck knew her role in the whole thing. How much she knew. He thought she'd be damn useful, in all his time on the damn colony he'd not really gained much trust within the gang – people like Colton, Jim, all liked him but didn't know fuck. They knew the fights, the standard fights but they'd never led him to anything else. Only Milliardo had known more and Duo really didn't want to go to Milliardo again if he could help it as it really didn't do Heero's mental state any damn good to see that. And he trusted Milliardo as far as he could throw the asshole.

"What do you want?" he asked, eyeing her up as she shifted her body weight on both feet – despite her confidence and the steady voice she seemed nervous.

"The same thing as you do. Off this shit hole."

"How do you know I want out?"

"Oh, call it women's intuition. Call it a hunch. Call it whatever but I guess you want off."

"You don't know anything."

"I saw you with him in the gym."

Blue eyes widened momentarily with a slight hint of shock remembering Milliardo. _You were seen._ Who'd seen them had never occurred to him. And what they'd seen was bad but maybe it was just some goon who'd think nothing of it – that they were just getting out some aggressive energy. There were plenty of fighters who fucked each other as some kind of comfort when it all got too much. And it was generally ignored. It happened but everyone didn't acknowledge it but if _she'd_ seen, she knew there was more shit to it and she must've passed on the intel to Milliardo. And then he'd used her to get a message to Heero. It felt too close. And fuck knew what it meant. But it all led to Milliardo.

"So you're together. It's kinda sweet. Ohh and don't worry. Didn't tell Kerrigan as, yanno, he's a spiteful asshole."

Duo snorted in response. "If you know so much, bribe a captain and get outta here."

"You are joking, right?" she said, a mocking and tone and laugh punctuating her words. "He'd kill me before I got anywhere near a fucking ship. That's what happened to the last girl."

Her brown eyes looked downwards as she said the last girl. Duo had seen Kerrigan be ruthless, got pleasure from watching Wade die, seen it first hand when the stupid fuck with his hands in the cookie jar had got beaten to death and Kerrigan seemed like the sorta asshole who would kill without remorse. The last girl. It seemed she didn't want to become the last girl – another body that would've been sent into space without any regard for any traditions – no last rites, no graves, no markers, only death. He could see why she was totally fucked but also wondered how the hell she ended up here in the first place – a nurse didn't belong here. She had choices. Everybody had choices but she had more as she could do something useful. Help people. Not destroy or kill like he'd done his whole damn life. Her hands were probably not blood stained and her dreams were not filled with lifeless corpses and the smell of charred flesh.

"And you think I can help?" Duo asked, his hands in the pockets of his jeans, taking every detail of her clothing in – covered up from head to toe – tight clothes but nothing much to see.

"Maybe. I don't know. I just keep my options open…"

"Like Peacecraft?" he ventured, to clarify that she damn knew the prick and whether he was using her.

"Like Peacecraft. He makes promises but I don't think he'll keep them… he's got his own plan for this place and I don't want to pin everything on a guy like that."

Her face didn't betray anything, her arms folded across his chest, as though hiding her feminine assets, probably used to doing that in this place. Duo could tell her not to bother with him but she already knew that. She'd seen them – Duo's body on top of Heero's, lips meeting even in a tentative and unresponsive kiss. And those words confused the fuck out of Duo – _his own plans_. Knew Milliardo wasn't to be trusted in this world but if he had his own agenda then fuck. He wanted even more to strangle the guy with his own blonde hair and wished he'd done more damage with his knee when he'd had the chance.

"So you pin it on a guy like me instead?"

"You're an option," she said. "Another option."

The door opened again and Rex entered, coughing throatily as though the cigarette break had fucking killed him and the chick walked to leave, Duo followed her and another guy entered the room – Javez who probably wanted some love or hate shit on his knuckles or something equally juvenile like all his other ink was. Once the door was closed to behind them, Duo reached for her arm and the action made the long sleeved top move upwards on her arm revealing heavy bruising. It was the sorta bruising men had after the cage and she pulled on the sleeve to hide it, looking up into Duo's eyes in the corridors that were never lit properly and there was a look on her face that said shame or something like it.

They were recent. She'd not had them when she'd served drinks at the last death fight – there had been enough skin on show to prove that she'd had no such wounds. And they were pretty bright, the purplish and brown and some green that he could see even in the bad lighting. Knew that a chick would suffer on this colony and knew that Kerrigan was a sadistic asshole but actually seeing it was different.

"That's my reason," she said, defiantly, "I need to get off here alive."

"I don't know what you think I can do or what the fuck Peacecraft promised you but I don't think I can help."

They stopped talking for a moment, a few fighters passing by and Duo leaned against the metallic wall as casually as he could and she averted her gaze to the floor as they walked before she reached out, grabbed Duo's arm by the wrist.

"The death fight is next Wednesday. It's a big one. Kerrigan's been talking about it for months. It's going to be packed and he's billing it as the fight to end all fights."

"You are sure?"

"I _know,"_ she said, her eyes shining in the low light. "I can get you a guest list if you promise to take me with you."

Duo barked a rough laugh. "Hon, all I need is my associate for that. You gotta do better."

Her eyes hardened. "I'll testify against Kerrigan. Then you _have_ to take me with you."

Duo sighed heavily. They still didn't _need_ her... but it would certainly damn help. But he couldn't really promise her shit. He really didn't know whether he could get Heero out of here, didn't know if he could even get himself off the colony without it all going to hell in a shit storm. But so far, he'd done a helluva lot worse things in the mess that this undercover had become – fucked around with Heero when it was totally unprofessional, beat men to near death for sport and he'd let Milliardo fucking Peacecraft get a few gropes in so promising a chick that he'd get her off the colony alive really didn't seem that bad. His own mortality was totally fucked by now anyway and the only thing that had become important was getting Heero out – lies and truth seemed totally irrelevant. Once he had the guest list, he could contact HQ, give them the dates and times and wait for the cavalry and hope it arrived before Heero was forced to kill some other unfortunate son of bitch so a tiny white lie seemed like nothing.

"I promise."

The words sounded hollow even as he whispered them in the damn corridor. Her hand left his wrist and she nodded, walking away down the corridor.

"Hey!" he shouted and she stopped for a second, turning back towards him. "I need your name."

"Call me MJ."

She turned back and was gone down the darkened corridor. Duo pushed himself off the metallic wall and walked away thinking that now he really had fucked over his own set of rules he thought he lived by. He'd stopped running and hiding from Heero – told the thick headed asshole that he loved him and now he was fucking lying. Sure wondered if somewhere a priest was rolling in whatever grave the Alliance had thrown him in. And fuck, that was a depressing thought.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! ELLE here. Just wanted to say, there is content in this chapter that could be potentially triggering for someone struggling with self-harm. There is no suicidal intent or anything, but I still feel like I should put an appropriate warning for this sensitive topic here. Thanks for reading and, as always, enjoy...! =)

It had been days since Heero had last seen Duo. Not that it mattered or meant anything anyway but he missed him and he needed to talk to him about the mission and Milliardo and he needed to touch him again. Needed to feel him and ground himself and know that it was okay. That they'd be out soon. Home. Where they could talk about what they needed to fucking talk about years ago but couldn't.

Instead he sat on his cot wearing Duo's shirt with his knees curled up to his chest and his arm spread out over them, tracing the two long scars on the inside of his bicep with the fore and middle fingers of his left hand. Over and over he traced those two thin lines with perfect timing until he thought he might wear them to bleed again.

He remembered the faint pain of it as he sliced into his arm with his switchblade. Duo's favourite blade. Ironic. Symbolic. Not that Heero understood symbolism at that point in his life because maybe if he'd been a little less literal the scars wouldn't exist at all.

It was during Duo's second undercover. At the recommendation of his therapist Heero was living in a guest wing at Relena's. He wasn't allowed his own apartment yet and when Duo was gone he was to be with her. Something about not letting him be alone so he didn't relapse back into that same mindset. He needed people, life, unexpected situations. Apparently he needed people to barge in on him from time to time. He didn't realize that yet, but Relena had been told to do just that. He was supposed to be protecting her, but she was really protecting him. Later he would be angry when he found out this deceit. Even later he would understand why it had to be that way. But at that moment when she stepped into his bathroom where he stood in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs with blood quickly running in rivulets down his arm he wasn't angry and he wasn't thankful. He was confused.

He remembered the stricken look on her face and the pained way his name fell from her lips but he stared back at her panic coolly.

"If I were trying to kill myself, I would've used a gun."

The words snapped her from her shock and she launched into action, grabbing a towel and forcing it under his arm, taking the knife and setting it on the sink.

"The cuts are shallow – they don't need stitches."

She glared, a look to rival his own, and began digging around for the first aid kit.

"What were you thinking?" Her voice shook. Heero wondered at it. This had nothing to do with her.

"Duo got a tattoo on his last undercover. He couldn't explain why. I looked up tattooing – scarification is the same category and quicker and I wanted to understand. It didn't hurt. It doesn't mean anything."

She pulled out some liquid sutures and antiseptic to clean the wounds, sighing grandly at his poor explanation before starting in on his arm.

"Heero – people get tattoos to symbolize something to themselves. Just because Duo can't explain what it means to you doesn't mean it doesn't mean something to him. You can't just go experimenting on yourself like this any time you don't understand something. That's not normal. Come ask me instead." Relena had finished with her handiwork and was inspecting it critically. It wasn't the best job Heero had ever seen, but he didn't care. He was just going to undo it all anyway to make sure they scarred.

"Is that why he left me again?" The words were unexpected but she had said to ask and part of him wanted an explanation. It was something else he didn't understand. But he knew he couldn't just leave like Duo did. He had nowhere to go. He had nothing. No one. Just Duo and Relena. He wouldn't be approved for under covers if he had to do a psych eval.

"Huh?" She was never the articulate politician when it was just them. Heero liked that about her, about them.

"Duo. Is that why he left? Because I'm not normal?"

Relena forced him to sit down on the edge of the tub and she sat down right next to him, holding his hand.

"Do you think Duo is normal?"

Heero took a moment to contemplate the question. He wasn't really sure. Duo certainly seemed normal. He had friends and was social and he passed Preventer's tests and evaluations and he took him out of the bunker and brought him back to society so Duo had to be closer to normal than he was, right?

"Maybe."

She squeezed his hand, the blood on it staining her own pale skin but she didn't seem to care. She had never seemed to care about all the fucking blood on his hands.

"Duo isn't normal, Heero," she said very softly. "I don't really think any of us are, to be honest. Kids who pilot Gundams at fifteen aren't normal. That's okay, though, I think it's better to be special. No one normal could've accomplished what we have. But you have to understand, Duo is trying to figure out what it means to be normal too. He doesn't mean to confuse you."

"But I am confused."

"Why?" she asked, tilting her head, eyes narrowing with curiosity.

"We had sex." The words hung heavy in the air between them but Heero didn't really understand why. It took a long time before he truly understood that Relena had a crush on him during the war and what that meant and many years later he regretted the things he said to her as they sat on that tub.

"Excuse me?" Her voice was quiet and still. Her hand trembled within his. But Heero didn't understand.

"When he came back and I stayed with him, while he was here, we had sex. For the first time since he found me. I thought that meant I was significant to him again. But he still left."

"Heero..." Her voice shook. Sometimes he didn't understand why she said his name so much. Duo didn't. Duo called him 'Ro or Soldier Boy or Asshole or maybe Fuckface, if he was really mad or frustrated, but not Heero. And his voice never shook. "Heero, I know you mean a lot to him. I know he doesn't want to hurt you but I'm sure he is struggling too. He just hides it inside, the way you hid yourself, do you understand?"

He was still confused but he nodded his head, sensing that Relena wasn't going to be able to help him much more short of bringing Duo home and forcing him to explain his actions himself.

"You know, during the war, how they called you pilot oh-one and Duo was oh-two?"

Heero nodded dutifully.

"Is that why you cut twice? For him?"

Heero stared at the bright red lines glaring angrily up at him under the shiny gelatinous sutures. He didn't think of that when he'd made the cuts. He really wasn't thinking much of anything. He probably would've cut a few more times had Relena not interrupted him. But he guessed that knowledge would probably upset her and he didn't know what to say.

He grunted noncommittally.

"Duo already left his mark on you, though." She fingered the bullet wound on his arm from their first meeting with her other hand. Heero stared at it and thought of the scar on his leg, eyes moving down to note it as well. Two holes. Two scars. Two different sets of scars. Pilot 02 had marked him twice. Maybe this was symbolism. Maybe this is what Duo meant with the amateurish tattoo of the cross on his bicep. He wasn't sure.

When Duo came home a few months later with a new tattoo he didn't say anything about the scars and Heero didn't ask about the tattoo. Duo just fell into his arms for a few weeks before he disappeared again.

Over time Heero became content with the pattern. Duo always came back to him. He moved out of Relena's a year later, agreeing to stay on her detail 90% of the time despite his successful psych evals. Duo started showing up in his apartment – only retreating to his own space when Heero fucked up and tried to get too close. But it was good. It was all the good parts of a relationship and none of the bad because Duo always left before it got bad.

Heero's fingers slid over the ridges again. He wished Relena was here. He needed to talk to her, ask her opinion because he knew this wasn't normal and he didn't know if they even had a chance at something like it. Maybe Duo had been protecting them both. Maybe it'd have been better if he'd never said anything.

_I fuckin' love you._

He held on to the words and repeated them in his head with each stroke along his arm until they sounded strange and warped just like everything else once it filtered through his brain enough times. But he needed it. Just needed to hold on a little longer. Then he'd be able to bring Duo home. Then he'd be able to hold him.

"Freak."

Heero's fingernails dug into his own bicep and the sniggers of the men who had been staring at him for the last few minutes derailed his contemplation. His patience was worn thin. He just wanted to get to the next fight, get a second look at the men there, reaffirm their faces and then get the fuck out. He was sick of this petty bullshit and the paranoia it wrought in him. Sick to fucking death of the stink and the loneliness and the ignorance and the insults.

He noticed the laughter stopped and the expression on the men's faces changed to concern and he realized he was shaking, breathing heavily, his fists clenched, glaring at them maliciously. But he was just so fucking _angry_. He had fucking _killed_ two men and he was the only person who cared? Didn't these men know what he had sacrificed to bring them peace and yet they still wanted war? They still wanted to hurt and kill each other – despite _everything_ , despite how it destroyed so many lives they _still_ got pleasure from war?

It made him feel hollow and empty inside, useless. Fuck – did protecting Relena even matter when she advocated something so out of touch with reality? Oh, it was nice to talk about pacifism and ideals and a better humanity and blah-di-fucking-dah in a well lit room with freshly brewed tea and crumpets and personal chauffeurs waiting in brand new town cars downstairs and – _fuck_ but no wonder Duo had to leave because how could he possibly lie in a king sized bed with goose-down bedding in a climate controlled room in an expensive and well furnished apartment next to someone so fucking out of touch with reality when he knew the truth? When he dealt with this shit every fucking time he stepped out the door?

No wonder Duo scarred his body – memoirs cemented into his skin of all the shit he's seen. Just like his hair. Just like his name. A constant fucking reminder of pain. How could Heero ever hope to make him happy when he held on to pain so tightly his whole goddamned visage reeked of it?

Fuck but this was all a mistake. A huge mistake. Not just this mission, being here, but Duo, too – a huge fucking mistake. He stood and stormed out of the room, pent up and angry and not sure what he was going to do. He wanted to pound his fists into something as his thoughts spiralled quickly out of control. He understood then that Duo would never stay. Love be damned – love wasn't _enough_ for them. His throat felt tight and he swallowed hard at that realization. If love was wanting someone to be happy then it didn't matter how much he loved Duo because he knew he could never make Duo happy. Duo had probably never been truly happy in his life. What made him so vain, so conceited, so fucking presumptuous to think that _he_ could provide him with that?

He _was_ a freak. He knew that. He even fucking _enjoyed_ it. He enjoyed the looks of fear he provoked in the other fighters, he enjoyed the way he could overpower any man in the cage, he enjoyed his superiority – so what if he wasn't like them? He was _better_ than them!

But he was the cost... He was jaded, emotionally stunted, socially confused – he was nothing that Duo needed. Oh yeah sure, he could offer him a paltry reprieve from his pain, offer him his body and his bed for a few weeks, but _love_? A relationship? What did those things even mean to a boy who had no parents, no role models, nothing but a past riddled with violence and training?

Heero stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, his fingers gripping the sink so hard he thought they might bruise, his nostrils flaring as he breathed heavily, feeling sick and angry and at the very limits of his self control. He hated himself in that moment. Despite everything he'd been through in his life, he was still so goddamned _naïve_...! Naïve to think he could be anything Duo needed. Naïve to think he could just take him home, wrap him up in his sheets and hold him for the rest of his life.

He hauled back and slammed his fist into the mirror, enjoying the feel of the crunch under his hand as the panelled glass shattered and fell.

Duo didn't need someone who locked himself in a bunker because he was too fucked up to deal with the ghosts in his own mind.

He punched the area the mirror used to be again, shards of it pressing into his knuckles as he bent back the metal slightly, but he didn't feel a thing. He was a freak – such small pain meant nothing to him.

Duo didn't need someone like that, a freak, someone who couldn't feel pain or sorrow or happiness or fucking love until it was literally crushing him under it's weight, destroying him, tearing into him so deeply he became powerless, unable to comprehend or react to or fucking _deal_ with the feelings that overwhelmed him and left him feeling weak and helpless.

Another punch, the metal bowing, blood running down his arm now, dripping off his elbow onto the floor but he didn't even notice.

Duo didn't need someone who came into his missions and fucked them all up. Compromised them. Made his whole job that much fucking harder as he tried to manage himself, the mission and the fuck up who went by Heero Yuy. Didn't need someone who couldn't handle a couple months on an undercover without falling the fuck apart.

The next punch was a little less steady, a little less powerful as his arms shook, and he bit down on his bottom lip hard, feeling completely exhausted, confused, out of control. He felt like he wanted to cry but he didn't know how and he stared at the shards of glass in the sink as they refracted his skin back at him and he thought it was a particularly poignant image. He was no more whole than that glass and no more able to be put back together.

He was broken – irreparable – and Duo deserved better than him. Duo needed someone better than him. Deserved it.

He rolled up the short sleeve of the shirt and stared at the two thin scars he stroked only minutes ago and picked up a piece of broken mirror, slashing at the area angrily, the only pain he felt the ache in his chest as he tried to erase Duo from him. Erase his mark on his skin even if he couldn't erase his mark on his heart.

Heero was so focused he didn't hear the door open but he did hear the frustrated huff as a strong hand reached out and gripped his wrist, halting his slashing motion.

"Fuck kiddo – what the hell is this?"

He met warm brown eyes with his own cool blue ones and he recognized the man as someone Duo interacted with frequently. The medic. James... Jeff... Jim? Fuck. He didn't know. He really didn't fucking care, either.

Heero glared for all his worth but the man wasn't dissuaded and he threw open the pack over his shoulder and started pulling out gauze and antiseptic.

"Don't know what the hell MJ wants with you, but you can't be walking around bleeding like OZ troops after a damned Gundam attack," he muttered out as he lined his equipment up on the unaffected sink. "Come on now, take off your shirt so I can wrap this shit."

Heero growled low in his throat at the suggestion, lips curling over barred teeth. Fuck if he was going to give up Duo's shirt. The cuts weren't bad enough to warrant being wrapped anyway.

"Christ, son, I don't have all day and it's not like I get liquid sutures out here in east bumblefuck." Jim grabbed his other hand in the mean time, completely unintimidated, and ran it under cool water. "Duo warned me about what a fuckin' horrible patient you were after Aziz."

Heero flinched at Duo's name but luckily Jim was pulling out a piece of glass at the same instant and Heero covered his moment of internal suffering in the external pain he was supposed to feel.

"Look, if you're depressed –" Jim started but Heero sneered at the suggestion, yanking his hand away although it was quickly snatched back and antiseptic poured over it. "You see a guy cutting himself, what else are you supposed to think?"

Heero let his glare fall back to his hand and watched as the man towelled it off and then smeared some cream over it.

"Shirt?"

Heero shook his head angrily, eyes narrowing. He'd fucking deck him if he had to – but Jim just sighed.

"Whatever. Fucking neurotic little shit." Then he held his arm over the sink and poured antiseptic on it as well.

Heero stared at the angry red lines, antiseptic fizzing along the fury he'd wrought there, and he could hardly see the two scars that had come to symbolize Duo underneath it all. But then Jim was covering it with the towel and applying pressure to help halt the bleeding.

"Cuts ain't deep," he observed but Heero already knew that. Jim leaned a hip against the sink as he held Heero's arm in his hands, staring at him critically. "Look, kiddo, here's the thing – I know you ain't just some super star fighter. Been around the block 'nuff times to know the way you fight is something different. I know your sponsor, I know who he is, and I have some guesses as to what yer doin' here and I can't say I don't welcome it, but fact is, you seriously gotta get your shit together."

Heero glared at the side of his head as he removed the towel and dabbed at the area for a minute before pressing again and meeting his eyes honestly.

"You got a girl back home or somethin'?" Heero blinked, surprised by the unexpected question. "A guy?" Jim tried again. Heero averted his eyes, not wanting to give anything away. "But you got someone, right? Handsome kid like you, you gotta have someone."

"I – No," Heero muttered, frustrated with himself for even opening his mouth. Jim stared in a way that made Heero uncomfortable. He yanked his arm out of Jim's grip. Jim chuckled as he grabbed the ointment and slathered some on his fingers.

"This little melodramatic display is about a chick?" Despite Heero's fists tightening dangerously, Jim grabbed Heero's arm back to rub the ointment in. "Look kid, here's some fatherly advice – if it's meant to be, it'll be. Sure she might be pissed you're all the way out here but either she'll wait, or she won't. If she won't, she ain't worth it, and if she will... Well, when you get home you better show her the time of her fuckin' life, if you catch my drift." Jim arched his eyebrows in a suggestive way that immediately reminded him of Duo. For some reason those kind words calmed him down a little, leaving him feeling empty.

 _If it's meant to be, it'll be._ Sure sounded easy when he said it, but Heero knew nothing about either one of them was 'easy.'

"I ain't no shrink, and I don't know just what your problem is son, but if you need some valium or some shit you can come to me, okay?" Jim appraised his handiwork after getting a conciliatory nod from Heero and packed up his bag.

"Look, MJ is lookin' for you and I don't know why but I think we've kept her waiting long enough, eh?" Heero's eyes narrowed suspiciously and Jim shrugged as he slung his bag back over his shoulder. "Told ya, you hafta get your shit together, 'kay?" Heero pulled at the sleeve of the shirt to straighten it from where he'd rolled it up. There was blood on it. It threatened to send him back over the edge in a fit of anger at his own stupidity and negligence but he took a deep breath, held it in. Jim was worried – that should be enough. He had to get his shit together, like Jim said. Duo didn't need this. Duo didn't need one more fucking thing to worry about.

He followed Jim out and immediately saw the woman from after the death fight waiting for them in the hallway. Her whole posture exuded nervousness and her eyes latched on to him desperately as soon as he was through the door.

"Thanks Jim," she breathed out quickly, taking his hand and squeezing it for a minute.

"You gonna be okay?" he asked hesitantly but she just gave a curt nod, grabbing Heero and walking him quickly down the hall in the opposite direction Jim was headed.

"You and me, we have to get the fuck outta here right now," she hissed as soon as they were safely out of earshot of Jim.

Heero was caught completely off guard. He'd talked to this chick once and now she was acting like they were some kind of team? Fuck – what the hell was going on here?

"I can't leave," he said bluntly. No one just walked off this colony anyway.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Look, I _know_ , so just call Preventer or whatever the fuck you have to do. I'll make the same promise to you – I'll testify. I'll testify against Kerrigan, Milliardo, anyone you fucking want, but we gotta leave. _Now_."

Her breath was hot on his face, her fingers clutched into Duo's shirt, twisting it in a way that made him angry. It wasn't _hers_ to touch! He grabbed her wrist and felt the bones in her hand creak under his grip.

"Why?" The single word was heated and angry. He didn't know how she knew so much and he didn't know what she meant by testifying – against Milliardo, no less – and a promise...?

"Promise me you'll get me off this fucking colony with you!"

"Why?" he repeated, immune to her pleas.

"Because Duo's been fucking compromised."


	17. Chapter 17

Kerrigan's cell wasn't that bad. Duo thought of his times where he stayed at Treize Khushrenada's pleasure and the sadistic assholes that OZ employed purely to beat the fuck outta a fifteen year old kid and Kerrigan's crew had been restrained. So far. Only so far. Sure as hell wouldn't last, as he stretched out his legs a little in the darkness.

They were going for darkness. To try and deprive him of that sense. Fine. He could deal. Darkness was something he'd lived with most of his fucking life and he found the dark comforting. There was something about total darkness that felt like being in space, in zero G, and it was like a damn cocoon or something and it wasn't unsettling to him. Not probably like Kerrigan wanted.

He sure as shit _should_ feel vulnerable – he was sat only in boxers, his ribs hurting a little from where the first few kicks and punches had landed. He could still feel the pain in the spot on his neck that had hurt like a motherfucker – the place where the Taser had made contact with his skin and created the first shocks of convulsion through his body. He had to give Kerrigan credit for that one – it was a clever ass move – having his goons barge in while he was trying to sleep wouldn't work on its own as Duo barely slept on this goddamn colony and when he did it was interrupted by the slightest noise and he would be alert, but fuck, he could live without sleep. He had lived without it during the war, lived without it when he was with Heero and they spent hours fucking and touching and sleep became something they did when their bodies had finally had too much. Sleep was something he'd do when he was dead. Heard that once somewhere. He'd sleep when he was dead.

Maybe it was the entirely new experience of being Tasered that had made him a bit easier to be dragged – dragged like he had been at fifteen – that example to the colonies and prepped for his execution but he was sure the weapon had been rigged. The volts that had shuddered down his nerves felt like being fucked over by a freight train and it had made him submissive, smelt the vague scent of burnt flesh and hair or something on the air. It really had been rigged. No way in shit the Preventers or other law enforcement organisations would let that amount of electricity course through a normal civilian's body. Hell, Duo knew there were no rules on this colony, no rules so that he could be Tasered and thrown into a dark cell for however long Kerrigan wanted.

They'd searched his room, his hands behind his back in thick metal cuffs that were probably a relic of OZ or some shit. In his past, that past that was a damn million years ago, when he was a thief and then a Gundam pilot, he'd have lock picks in his hair and he'd be able to unpick the locking mechanism given time but he'd long ago stopped doing that shit. He thought he was too good to get compromised. Never thought he'd back in a damn cell waiting for Heero or something outta his fucking control to happen.

Kneeling on the floor of his tiny room, two of Kerrigan's men threw his shit around, looking at the meagre possessions he had. There were clothes – not many, and the candy and cigarettes he'd acquired over his time on the colony to try and get intel outta people but they had to find the tube of lube, sticky from their combined impatience on that night with Heero that seemed a lifetime ago – his room no longer smelling of sex and cum but he curled himself on his bed at night, hanging onto that grey military grade blanket thinking that somehow, Heero was fucking there with him and they had something they could never have. Each other. Love. Shit. It all seemed fucked. They had no damn chance in this world.

"Look what I found," one of them said, holding the tube so that all the idiots could get the idea. He received a round of sniggers at the realisation of what it was. Maybe they wanted him to look embarrassed that they figured out he'd been fucking another man but Duo had just glared up defiantly, spasms still shifting through his body from the Taser.

"Seems like an invitation, don't it?"

More sniggers. The guy approached, twirling the sticky tube in his fingers until he was stood directly in front of him, a rough hand holding his jaw and forcing his head upwards. He didn't intend to look the prick in the eye but then if he looked level it would be right in the groin and that was not somewhere he wanted to look either.

"Bet you're a sweet piece of ass – bet with all that hair ya could forget you're fuckin' a guy."

Duo gritted his jaw, was not going to give a rise to some thug in Kerrigan's crew who was an insignificant piece of shit who was intentionally trying to get a reaction. The guy knew he'd hit a button but they weren't going to get what they wanted. They'd get to rough him up more if he fought and right now, he had nowhere to go. He could make a run but the colony was entirely controlled by Kerrigan's men and he was too damn recognisable anyway. His hair, his tattoos – all those things he shouldn't have to be an undercover operative – each tattoo a memory of another shit moment of his life. He'd keep going until there was no skin left, a patchwork of each fucked memory, those needle strokes boring into skin and making him feel actual pain rather than the ghosts he carried around in his head.

He moved his head to the side sharply, those rough finger tips dislodging in the motion and though he'd said fuck, the guy didn't like it and had kicked out at his stomach, the pain joining that of the Taser and forcing him to the floor.

"Get him on his hands and knees."

It was then that Duo received most of his damn injuries. It was one thing he'd always damn prided himself on – that he'd come from the shithole that he had, that he'd seen the stuff people did to each other and he'd never been forced or made to do anything he didn't want to. That no one had damn touched him apart from Heero – yeah, Milliardo he'd allowed a few gropes for the whole undercover shit but no one had gone over _that_ fucking line and no one ever would. OZ didn't, sadistic assholes as they were, seemed they had some self-respect. Wondered if that came from the top, couldn't really see Treize getting his hands truly dirty – would have to ask Milliardo that shit.

The hands stopped before anything could happen – he seriously didn't want to think about how Heero would take that information if it ever got to him. Heero was possessive enough and pissed enough when he thought Milliardo had fucked him… if anything else – damn, he wouldn't want to see the carnage. Duo had a feeling that no one would get off the colony alive.

"He is not to be harmed," said a smooth voice from the doorway and he didn't need to raise his head to see Milliardo.

At least it had stopped Kerrigan's men. They'd only manhandled him to the cell, kicked him a few more damn times but left him in there in the dark to crawl to the find the walls and prop himself up against the cold steel. He supposed Milliardo would want a thank you but like fuck he'd give one. He could sit in the cell and feel damn sorry for himself – that he was _too_ good to be compromised and he'd probably been compromised because of Heero being here like a mindfuck – his focus fucked because Heero made him feel shit and remember shit and his touch was the only thing in his life that he craved or wanted.

Yet he had to think that he had Heero. Had Heero here in this godforsaken place and they could do what they wanted to him – break his fingers, pull teeth, shit, they could use the Taser again and he would not give him up. And Heero would have to contact HQ – would have to ask for the goddamn extraction team and gather as much intel and bring this whole colony down and Kerrigan without him.

Fuck. He hated being the one in the cell but shit, he had to have faith in Heero – that his head was in the game enough, that he wouldn't lose whatever control he had left and complete the mission.

_"Don't you fucking get it? You are more than a goddamned mission!"_

He heard himself say those words, in his own room, before they fell to the bed and Heero let him inside… not just for sex but opened himself up completely. Fuck. He'd been trying to save Heero from that bunker, from that place where he erected walls and let _him_ in and then they'd said the love word in that dirty bathroom and he didn't know where Heero's fucking head was. That he had not to lose his shit now. He had to have faith in damn Heero that he could get them both off as he was clear outta the game. Fucked. Done.

The brightness of the door opening made Duo realise that some of light deprivation had fucking worked as his eyes stung from the brightness and then it was made damn worse by the strip lighting in the cell being put on. He couldn't move his arms to shield his eyes as they were still secured in the cuffs behind his back and closing his eyes did little. He heard the footsteps and the door being slammed behind the single visitor. He expected Kerrigan. They'd want to know the story – try to intimidate him and use pain or whatever other method to get him to talk but as he opened his eyes to slits it was the one person he really didn't want to see him weak.

"I told them not to hurt you," Milliardo said, standing above him, towering over him from his position on the floor.

"I'm meant to thank you for that, your fucking Highness?"

"That little scene would've been a lot worse without my intervention."

"So you _do_ want some gratitude?"

His eyes adjusting, he could make out Milliardo's expression and it looked less smug than their previous meetings and there was something… cold about the look in those blue eyes.

"I just thought it would be an indignity that you did not entirely deserve."

"Gang rape is an indignity, huh? You are a pompous piece of shit."

"And as I've said before… you are positively charming."

Duo used the wall to get to his feet, not comfortable with his position on the floor, the cold against his naked back seeming to create ripples of pain through his abused flesh but he didn't like being at Milliardo's goddamn feet. Milliardo watched his awkward movements, his eyes trailing down his torso to the new eagle and all the smaller mementos on his skin, the cross, the stupid spider, the Latin script, the scythe, the small sugar skull, the dove… and he felt more exposed than he wanted to be. Not just because he was near as damn naked but he really didn't like the look in Milliardo's eyes as it said… regret? More emotion than the Ice fucking Prince was capable of.

"I am sorry," he said, finally, his eyes no longer looking at Duo's body. "I told you I was never the good guy in this situation."

"You…"

"You'll understand that I had to protect myself… that you are getting too close and I had no choice. You understand that my own position in the post-war world is more important than yours… It would do no good for my dear sister for _this_ to come out. No good for your precious _Heero_ and his devotion to her if the world she created crumbles…"

Even though his hands were behind his back, even though he was still suffering the aftershocks of the damn Taser and the beating by Kerrigan's goons Duo had still spent over a year on the fucking colony and he sure as shit didn't need his hands to kick Milliardo's ass.

This time, his reflexes were ever so slightly off kilter, his limbs reacting a few seconds too late and though he kicked out trying to take Milliardo's feet from out underneath him, he managed to cause pain, his bare foot hard against knee but it was not enough as Milliardo swiped his fist across his face, hard, enough to see stars and it made Duo remember that he may be pretending to be the Preventer, the Peacecraft, the diplomat or whatever he wanted to be but underneath it he was a soldier. A killer. The crazy motherfucker who planned eternal winter on Earth. He was still that guy aboard Libra – that guy willing to kill again and again.

And Duo fucking wasn't anymore. Wanted something else. No, fuck, he didn't want the apartment and the plush bed and the rings and the mortgage or whatever convention told him he should want but he wanted Heero however they could get it to goddamn work. Find a version of home in each other. Find a place without bunkers and hiding and shutting down and a world where they weren't goddamn soldiers willing to do anything for a mission.

He tried another kick out but found himself on his knees, spitting blood from his mouth where his teeth had bitten down into his flesh and Milliardo was breathing heavily, wiping a bloody knuckle against his jeans.

"You won't get away with this shit – Heero'll kick your fucking ass like he did in the war, you cock sucking, lying - "

Milliardo cut him off with a harsh kick to his stomach, winding him effectively – if he could speak he would've told him he was a fucking coward, kicking him when he was down – tell him he was pathetic and Heero was twice the man he'd ever be…

"Heero _loves_ her. He wouldn't jeopardise her. When the Preventers come, I won't be here and he will not report me… we have already agreed to that… and then when Kerrigan and his men are arrested and the dust settles… this place is _mine._ "

Duo took in the words, his chest aching somewhere that wasn't due to the damn beating. Yeah, Heero loved Relena – she was his hope or something. More than Duo could ever be as he disappeared and he left and he wasn't what Heero needed – wasn't steady and reassuring. He was damaged goods – still too scared to really love someone because hell, he didn't deserve that. Didn't deserve deep blue eyes, soft lips, wild hair, calloused fingers and every scar, mark, bullet hole. Didn't deserve that whispered, "I love you." Wanted to deserve him… wanted to be the man Heero needed but she was better than he could ever be.

"Heero will never go along with you."

"He will… if not, you will be fighting for your life in the cages. I can guarantee that you will not survive it."

Maybe he was weakened, a little breathless, his chest hurting, the pain of the Taser and Milliardo's punches but still he used his right shoulder, rising from his kneeling position and forcing it hard against his chest, pushing him hard towards the wall. It was unexpected, the force, the anger, the jolt of bone and muscle and it overwhelmed him for a moment before Milliardo regained the upper hand once again. The blow was harder, his lip splitting under the pressure and this time when he sprawled to the floor he barely had the strength to pull himself up until he felt the hand on his hair – the kid in him screaming about someone touching it who wasn't damn allowed – pulling him up harshly so that Milliardo could kneel and look him in the eye.

Duo spat. The blood and saliva mixing and it hit Milliardo's face with the intended accuracy.

"Fuck you."

Milliardo only smirked, wiped the blood from his face and rose back to his feet. "You might need that spirit. It might be time for the Demon to make a reappearance."

With that, he let go of Duo's braid and which forced his head to cold metal floor and was leaving the tiny cell, the strip lighting turned off and the door closing behind him. He slowly rolled onto his back, the cuffs underneath him uncomfortable yet so was the pain in his chest and the sharp taste of blood in his mouth.

"Heero…" he said in the darkness, his voice raspy against split lips. "You gotta get outta here without me… take that bastard down…"

He knew he was talking to nothing but four walls but he licked at the blood and continued.

"I love you… but you deserve something better… finish the mission."

Duo rolled onto his side, his cheek against the cold metallic floor and thought about trying to damn sleep as really there was nothing else he could fucking do.


	18. Chapter 18

Heero wasted no fucking time. He might've fucked Duo over by coming here when he knew he damn well wasn't needed, but he wasn't going to let Duo go down without a fight. Rescued him from worse places without a fucking plan – he'd get him out of this, too.

He told the chick to get damn well away from him – told her he'd make no such promise, that he didn't have time to deal with her shit. Her offer to testify meant nothing to him – the only thing he wanted was Duo, safe, and fuck the mission and fuck the colony and fuck every other fucking thing. Duo was the priority. Duo _was_ his mission. In his mind, he'd already quit, and Preventer, Une, whoever the fuck wanted to could levy whatever goddamned sanctions they wanted against him – he would just take Duo and they'd disappear – just like during the war. They'd fucking disappear.

Although he wasn't completely sure how Duo relayed messages back to HQ other than the vague comment from Milliardo about Duo breaking into his room, Heero did the only thing he knew how to do. He slithered through the ventilation system to the long abandoned main computer server and rigged a distress signal to all Preventer frequencies. He might have quit, sure, but he needed them now and he intended to give them a full report and whatever they needed to arrest every motherfucker here, that was for _damned_ sure. Frankly, he didn't want it to come down to his arrest, but if it did, he wasn't worried. The only thing he was worried about was making sure Duo was still alive. He didn't know how long he'd been compromised for, but he knew every minute could be one minute closer to Kerrigan putting a bullet in his head.

So he was far more than displeased when he felt the ceiling underneath the shaft he was escaping back through rip out from under him and the way twisted metal tore his skin in long gashes down his abdomen as he hit the floor hard was less than ideal. He blinked to clear his disorientation and looked up, not even bringing a hand to the wounds quickly soaking his tattered clothes in blood, relegating the pain to a space in the back of his mind where he could manage it.

Milliardo stood there with the goddamned chick – bitch probably sold him out, probably just verifying their fucking connection earlier, though fuck if Milliardo didn't already know that – and two dudes with some kind of industrial metal cutters that must've been used to slice through the ceiling and he wondered how they knew where he was but then it didn't really matter. They probably had some fucking heat scanning device or something.

"MJ, get Jim or someone down here, we can't have him bleeding out. And Colt, Harrison, you're dismissed." The three other people were quick of follow Milliardo's orders, leaving them alone. Heero pressed his hands into the floor, ground his feet into the steel underneath him and lifted himself to standing. His head swam a little, but fuck if he was going to face Milliardo lying down. He wasn't quite sure what the hell was going on, but obviously Milliardo wasn't here as legitimately as it had once appeared.

"We need to talk." Milliardo's smooth voice made Heero grit his teeth.

"Fuck," Heero spat out, eyes furious, fists shaking, even angrier now than when he'd seen him from the cage. Confusion always made him angry. He fucking _hated_ being played.

"I have always respected you," Milliardo started and Heero balked at the words. They meant nothing now. He'd fucking respected him once too but that was before this – before he had to kill for him, before he watched his sleazy hands feel up his lover, before he cut him out of a goddamned ceiling. "You have to know you can't keep doing this, playing this game of good boy soldier hanging up his rifle and retiring to a world of peace." Heero's eyebrows narrowed. Milliardo smirked. "You have never felt more alive than you did in the cage, right? The ability to choose whether a man lives or dies, knowing you have that power over him – it's like a drug, isn't it?"

Heero felt bile rise in the back of his throat and he tried to maintain his stance despite his quickening blood loss. Milliardo was wrong – so fucking wrong. He never wanted to kill anyone here. He didn't even want to fucking be here. It made him sick to realize what he'd done. It disgusted him. It made him loathe himself to know he killed again. There was no power in that – no feeling of being 'alive.' The power was in choosing not to kill. The power was in compromise, in living with the flaws of others, in – in...

Fuck, but that was it, wasn't it? The same way Relena worked to bring people together on a global scale through compromise and patience and understanding – that was they had to do, wasn't it? He and Duo. To make things work. Because _Duo_ made him feel alive. It wasn't killing or being here, working undercover, all those things only forced him to shut down, turn off his emotions, hide inside himself for protection. Fuck. No. It was _Duo_ who made him feel alive. _Duo's_ touch, _Duo's_ love. Milliardo was so, so fucking wrong.

"No," he whispered, his eyes dangerous and wild as he stared at the other man, a man who did get off on killing, a man who paired him up in a cage, forced him to kill, enjoyed every fucking moment of it.

Milliardo laughed cruelly. "I know you don't want to admit it to yourself – you've been twisted around my little sister's finger too long, that's okay. But you and I, we're the same, you said so yourself."

"No." The statement was more firm. He shook his head curtly, anger snapping across him like electricity. He evaluated his condition and knew if he was going to strike, he was going to have to strike soon before blood loss made him too weak to combat Milliardo equally. But he didn't want to have to fucking fight him. This wasn't right. It shouldn't be like this. He was a fucking Peacecraft – he should be better than this.

"You don't have to justify your lack of morality to me," he continued, almost... sympathetically? Heero paused, confused, unsure what exactly it was Milliardo wanted from him. Heero didn't want to fucking kill for him. "I understand the weight of the expectations on you. It's okay – you can escape that here."

Heero's body trembled. He felt so fucking weak but he had to combat this. He didn't want to kill any more. He didn't want to be Milliardo's pawn. He didn't want to be _anyone's_ fucking pawn any more. He remembered the feeling of betrayal at being used by Doctor J during the war – remembered how he swore to believe in himself, to fight for himself, to do what was fucking _right_ and this wasn't right. What was right was what he felt when he was with Duo and he steeled himself against Milliardo, locked his heart around the only one thing he knew to be true – he _loved_ Duo and fuck if he was going to forget it.

"You don't have to go back to my sister and her lofty expectations of what you are." Milliardo's voice was kind, now, friendly even, and it made Heero's skin crawl even as his knees tried to buckle but he forced himself to stay standing.

"You can stay here, with me." He stepped forward then, stepping so close he could reach out and stroke Heero's hair. The touch shocked him and he stared at the other man with something akin to horror roiling in his gut. Milliardo had never touched him like that before. Fuck, no one had. No one but Duo.

"We can run this operation together – escape those people who don't understand us. I'll even let you have _him_ , if that's what you really want."

Heero's vision darkened momentarily and he felt himself sway though he fought it and Milliardo caught him, helped steady him. What he was saying didn't make any sense. Run this operation together? Run the fights? Why would he want to fucking do that? It was like being king of the rats or something – fucking disgusting.

"No," he stated for the third time. He felt tired and weak but he resisted it, struggled to keep his eyes locked on Milliardo's. "No. We can't do this. We have to be better than that. Soldiers – we have to be better. Show people how to be better."

Heero saw rage building deep in Milliardo's eyes and he felt a hand on his throat as he was shoved back into the wall. Part of him felt a sense of relief that he didn't have to try to stand any more; it made thinking clearly easier as he could focus purely on that.

"She's _wrong_ ," he growled, their noses almost touching and Heero couldn't bite back the smirk that started spreading across his face in his quickening delirium. "It's human nature to fight. Peace means nothing in the absence of war."

"This is your personal war, Zechs," Heero returned around a laugh. "A pathetic testament to a lost little boy." Milliardo lifted him by his throat and slammed him back into the wall and he coughed out a ridiculous chuckle, feeling thick fingers bruising his windpipe. "I was wrong, we _aren't_ the same. I can justify killing a man to stop a genocide – you can justify a genocide to stop from killing yourself."

Milliardo threw him on the floor in disgust and Heero's maniacal laughter bounced through the room until it descended into a fit of brutally painful coughing. He heard the door open and he saw Jim walk in, shocked and cursing at the sight of him.

"Fucking move him where?" Jim was asking as he felt himself lifted off the floor and drug out of the room. There was no answer and it seemed a long time but also not that long at all until he was being laid down in a dark room and left with Jim to tend to him.

"Hey, kid, your shirt's a fucking goner, not my fucking fault, okay?"

Heero nodded weakly, unable to remember what exactly it was about his shirt...

"Don't come kill me when this shit is over," Jim muttered and his hands began assessing the damage, cool cloth pressing to his wounds, stinging them, but it was okay, because he knew those hands and he knew how they could take the pain away, knew how they could reach into his heart and eek out some small remnant of pure emotion not buried beneath the cold walls of his training.

He felt those hands grasp his, twisting their fingers together almost painfully and he gasped and glared at the braided boy. Stupid to be so close like this. Stupid – fucking OZies might see, Wufei might be brought back any minute. Fuck but he didn't want to watch this guy die but if he had to he would, it was that simple.

"Feel like shit," Duo muttered and Heero supposed that was an obvious enough statement – he'd been beaten pretty damn good, Heero'd assessed the wounds himself and though they weren't gonna kill him, the bruising was deep, there were some fractured bones, it wasn't really the best position to be in but then this guy was always getting himself fucked by OZies so he could come to expect he was going to feel like shit from time to time.

"Make it better?"

Heero didn't understand how he could even do that shit. Put that cute little infliction in his voice that instantly made him half hard despite being in a goddamned prison with his hands bound and no plan and every defensive wall he had erected against that very thing.

"You're crazy," he spat back callously, hoping to dissuade the other boy but Duo just chuckled.

"Yeah, probably." Those fingers tightened. Heero tried to shift away but Duo leaned his head into his neck before he could manage an escape and bit down on the flesh there, suckling it, tonguing it in a way that made Heero fight back a moan.

"You'd do this with Wufei," he accused instead, trying to distance himself now before he capitulated completely. But there was just another little chuckle as the biting became more insistent and he gasped.

"Never. Only you. Only want you."

Want? The whole idea seemed foreign to Heero but then he did _want_ Duo – at least physically, it was undeniable – so maybe not. But want was something he refused to acknowledge, refused to allow himself the pleasure of. As soon as you wanted something, it could be taken away from you. As soon as you wanted something, it could be used against you.

"You're hurt," Heero pointed out and Duo pulled back then to appraise him, those big blue eyes studying him with a tenderness Heero'd never seen until he met him. It was eyes like that, which got you in trouble. Eyes that showed you cared about something. Eyes that proved you felt something. Heero hardened his own eyes as he stared back. He didn't want to look like that – but fuck what an asshole he was in retrospect.

Duo's hands came up and cupped his chin, fingering the smooth skin of his jaw line and Heero clenched his teeth together hard, fighting that touch with every damned piece of him he had to fight with. Couldn't fucking want him. Not here for fucks sake, not fucking here.

"Just want you to kiss me," Duo breathed out. "Take me away for one damn moment if this is gonna be my grave."

What the fuck was it about this guy that made his heart pound in his chest like this? All poetic words and shit that he fucking hated yet all he could do was stare at those lips, think about how they felt on his mouth, how they looked on his dick. Remember rolling together under the sheets of that stupid fucking twin bed at that stupid fucking school every single night, every touch electric, and he'd never felt so damn good. They'd just met but the attraction was painful, undeniable, and now it was like he was Eve and Duo's lips the apple and fuck if his tongue wasn't the snake, pressing him with clever words for just one taste to seal his fate.

Those nimble fingers felt his jaw slacken, his defences torn apart, and Duo pressed forward, lips eagerly meeting lips, tongue flicking out to loosen them and sneak it's way through barred and gritted teeth to find it's reluctant partner.

Heero groaned into that hot mouth, twisted his neck, and pain lanced through him like lightening and he gasped, eyes shooting open to meet brown ones and he froze, confused, locked in place in his agony though he wanted to lash out, attack, disable and ask questions later.

"Kid, fuck kid, it's me."

He recognized the voice. The doctor. Jim. Whatever. He relaxed marginally, felt the disconcerting sensation of fuzziness in his brain, remembered he'd lost quite a bit of blood. Fuck.

"I'm gonna give you some shit to knock you out for a few hours, help you relax –"

"No," Heero argued back weakly, trying to shake his head. Jim didn't even pause.

"– I'm fucking losing you and you're gonna hurt yourself thrashing like that."

He heard Jim riffling around through his things and he closed his eyes. On the back of his eyelids he saw Duo still, saw how he bruised those perfect lips with his passion, saw the lust in those eyes – a lust that mimicked his own, drove him mad with his own desire.

"Better fuckin' got a message out," he heard Jim grumble as he prepped the syringe, dragging him from his fantasy. "No damned good in a jail cell..."

Heero tried to jerk away, tried to respond, tried to fight it because fuck if he was in a cell then Duo was good as dead anyway if Kerrigan – fuck, no, if Milliardo – _fuck_ but he broke all the _fucking_ rules...! He wanted to sob but he couldn't, wanted to scream but his throat wouldn't open. Milliardo _knew_ he wanted him, _knew_ it, he'd said it, he'd fucking said it – _I'll even let you have_ him _, if that's what you really want_ – and if Milliardo knew that then he _knew_ how to hurt him.

His heart ached and he felt the needle inserted under his skin and he was too fucking weak to fight it. Too fucking weak for this whole damned mission. Too fucking weak to protect the only thing that mattered to him in this whole damn world _precisely because_ it was the only fucking thing that mattered to him. The feeling of desolation and hopelessness that slammed through him was more than he could bear and he felt totally useless, totally worthless – a total fucking failure.

Never was fucking good enough for Duo. Let him down again.


	19. Chapter 19

They wanted to know who the fuck he contacted and what he damn said. Duo didn't give them anything. He figured they knew it was the Preventers as who the fuck else would give a shit about a place like this – a place where the worst of humanity was entertainment and bets were placed on walking fucking corpses. He figured Milliardo probably told Kerrigan everything – maybe even that he used to be a Gundam pilot. Maybe might bring some extra money in for the death fight if the rich and powerful knew they were gonna watch a little shit who'd caused so much death and destruction fight and potentially die behind the mesh. Duo knew they weren't fucking popular – thus the reason they were hidden, their identities taken away and all traces of them erased from those history books as too many important people had had links to Romefeller or OZ or fucking White Fang.

Kerrigan had sat in on the first few interrogations – his face impassive, his fingertips holding his jaw up as he watched. He always stopped his boys before they became too rough – roughed him up enough that his breathing was laboured and he bled onto the metallic floor but not too much that he couldn't move or get to his feet for another smack down.

Milliardo's words rang in his damn ears. _Time for the Demon to make a reappearance._ And Duo guessed that was the damn reason they were going easy. That they wanted him to be able to fight in the fucking cage and die there – maybe wanted him to fight a little before he fell. It would make a bit more money if he was able to actually throw a punch rather than appear like some weak streak of piss unable to hold himself up because of broken ribs and bruised flesh.

They started to go 'round in cycle. He'd be dragged from his fucking cell. They'd ask a few questions, pull his head back with his hair and then he'd refuse or insult them – insult their mothers, their heritage, how small their dicks were and they'd respond with a harsh hit to the face and he'd have to take it as there was always too many and he was fucked. It went through a few days, no longer deprived of light in the cell but it soon became fucking unpleasant as they oh so thoughtfully provided him with a bucket to piss in and he waited. Kerrigan stopped appearing as though he was no longer important and if Duo hadn't known that Kerrigan wanted him in the cage at the next death fight, he would be sure he was on damn death row. Least they no longer cuffed him, least they gave him food and water and least he wasn't dead yet.

Where there was life, there was a chance or something. Remembered something like that. Sister Helen and a stupid fucking flower that sure as shit did not belong on a shitty colony in the L2 cluster striving through dead soil trying to live and those words.

"Where there is life – there is hope."

Had to have fucking hope. In Heero. Assumed that Heero would've done something and each day that they continued to interrogate him, he assumed that Heero was still on the outside, still uncompromised, maybe agreed to some shitty deal with Milliardo. He held onto that hope, that idea that somehow Heero could work this out and complete the fucking mission.

The idea of rescue, that stupid hope soon got fucked over as three days passed and he had become used to his bi-daily beating and the routines of his capture like he had during his stays at OZ's mercy. But instead of being dragged to a bright room, to be shoved down on the floor and to be worked over – the destination was different and Duo suddenly became aware that he was being walked towards the locker rooms and the amphitheatre.

It seemed like a lifetime ago that Duo had fought in fucking cage as he was pushed into the red locker room and saw no other fighters. The fact that there were no other damn fighters was a mindfuck. This was _it_ , MJ said, the big death fight and sure as shit they'd want a full night of entertainment for the rich and powerful assholes. A full night of fights – not just _him._ But he was damn alone, a pair of shorts waiting for him and some wraps to tie up his wrists. He knew he'd always been ever so slightly superstitious as a fighter, had his routine but it all felt disconcerting and he sure as shit didn't like it. He showered, ridding himself of the grime and blood and sweat from the last few days and put on the shorts, sat down on the bench and began to slowly wrap his wrists up, mindful of the pain in his fingers caused by one of his beatings where one of the motherfuckers had tried to pull them back a little too far.

They left him alone as there was nowhere for him to run. He'd run up against cool steel and fuck all else and there was nothing left to damn well do but go back into the cage. Be the Demon. Remember how to fight like he was back from hell and at least go down swinging. If Milliardo was correct, which the fucker had to be, he'd be outclassed by his opponent and he'd been weakened by his brief incarceration and his chances were meant to be slim. The only thing that he regretted as he finished wrapping up his left wrist, was not seeing Heero again – though he guessed that would've caused him fucking pain. He'd not been touched by him since the bathroom stall and those words and it ached that they'd never get chance to sort this shit. In hindsight, they'd been fucked from the beginning – Heero's leap from the hospital building as some kinda prophetic thing that this was where their relationship would end up, crashing and burning to the ground. Parachute opened too damned late.

Duo could hear the sounds from the other side of the door and thought about trying to pump himself up like he had when he'd given a shit about this undercover. Maybe even stretch or something but it felt like a damn execution and it was difficult to do more than just wait for another set of hands to drag him towards the fucking cage.

They came, a few guys he knew that looked at him with something that wasn't quite so damn harsh but still they did what Kerrigan fucking said and they were walking behind him, hands firmly on his arms as they walked the short distance from the locker room to the cage. Blue eyes took in the amphitheatre like he had thousands of fucking times – the crowd was full of the rich and powerful, suits and fancy assed designer pressed chino's and shit like that and it was more full than it had been at the first death fight he'd observed. He saw familiar faces and sought out Milliardo – looking for the prick that's own fucking master plan had led to this and he didn't see him as he bowed his head and climbed into the opening to the cage, feeling the mat underneath his bare feet for the first time in fucking forever.

Kerrigan was announcing – playing up for the fucking crowd and he heard his introduction.

"Tonight – returning to the ring is the Demon. Some of you may know him by his other name – Duo Maxwell or Gundam pilot 02."

Duo looked up, tried to glare at Kerrigan through the cage as those words created a murmur among the men assembled. He saw a few talk to each other, some doubting Kerrigan and others taking his word as damn law. Those who doubted that Duo could have ever been a Gundam pilot, he could understand – he hardly looked that fucking impressive but there were some ripples of recognition - those who'd seen his image during the wars - those who'd maybe seen those vidfeeds of his capture at fifteen or were in OZ and had access to some of that intelligence. Whatever. It didn't matter as they were gonna bet on his life whatever happened. He didn't play up for their amusement - was not going to be a puppet and entertainment for some fucked up rich dudes – all he did was stalk around the cage, memorising the dimensions and thinking about how he could stand any chance. He ran his fingers over the edge of the mesh as he walked, finding it somewhat ironic or something. He'd spent his life running and hiding and now he was damn trapped. Caged. Helpless.

It was then he finally saw Milliardo, stood at the side, his face betraying nothing – none of his plans, none of his lies and none of his damn need to be involved in this cesspool of humanity. Their eyes locked and for a second, he maybe saw a hint of that remorse that he'd hinted at in the cell. That maybe he genuinely didn't want things to end like this. Maybe he was sorry – somewhere in that fucked psyche, maybe he didn't want to watch Duo die but fuck, it wasn't enough. There was no saying sorry, there was no remorse for what he'd done and it made him want to make a stupid ass move – run from the cage and wrap his hands around that throat and punch him until he breathed blood. Yet, he knew, making any move now would result in immediate death. Least in the cage he'd die fighting. Die on his fucking feet. Die like he always intended. In the glory of the fight.

It seemed that they'd done enough of his fucking introduction and he averted his eyes from Milliardo's cold blue to see his opponent being dragged just as reluctantly. It seemed like the world had turned into water or something, that it wasn't clear, even as he was damn watching as Heero was stepping into the cage, that he could hear the vague announcement but it was as though he was drowning, everything fucking distorted.

He heard the name, the stupid fucking nickname the "Iron Fist" – the murmur of interest as Kerrigan revealed his identity as Heero Yuy – Gundam pilot 01 – but it was all so unbelievably far away despite Kerrigan only being on the other side of the cage, despite the fact that the announcement went over the PA system and the crowd only made a few noises of interest.

So maybe Milliardo had remorse for this. That he _knew_ their relationship and he _fucking knew_ that they were each other's weakness and _this_ was what he was going to let happen. He didn't look at Heero at first, couldn't do it, as this was not supposed to happen like this. Heero wasn't supposed to be in the cage with him – Heero was supposed to get off the colony with or without him – he was supposed to _live_ and stand beside Relena and if Duo died on this shit stall then it didn't _fucking matter._ Yeah, they'd had a good run – never expected to fall in love, never wanted to, not from that first moments in the school and those hurried attempts at intimacy on Peacemillion, but shit it was never meant to be forever but then it was never meant to end like _this_.

His eyes eventually raked up Heero's body, seeing scabbing across his abdomen large and livid and recent and felt the bile rise up in his throat and he thought like he should – how he'd been taught. That it was a weakness. That Heero had a weakness – a newly healed wound that he should hit out at and cause a fuck ton of pain.

But like hell he could do it as his eyes finally met those stormy blues and saw the expression on Heero's face. There was none of the soldierly calm, no mask, no bullshit – no, to the outsider, to those spectators, they'd see shit but Duo did. Saw the confusion, the hint of anger, the pain and other emotions that flit across his face briefly. He wanted to communicate something – that Heero should try and win the damn fight, that Duo couldn't do that – that Heero needed to be better, stronger for the both of them – that it was better that one of them survived this place – that one of them returned to earth and normality and had a life. And it had to be Heero. It always had to be – that he was the one who fucking saved the world and the Princess – Duo'd just done his part, killed his thousands and buried that guilt. He wasn't damn necessary and Heero's life was worth more.

Always had been.

The announcements had ended and there were a few moments of calm – bets being taken and the men getting drinks and it all made his stomach sink as they looked at each other across the cage.

It was wasn't like the other times they stood looking at each other like this – not like the gun Duo had pointed at Heero on the docks, not like when Wing's buster rifle was pointed at Deathscythe and he was thinking he was going to end up dead at the hands of that asshole only to find the suit behind him burst into flames, not like Barge when Heero's gun wavered as there was something there… It wasn't like those times. It was a million times fucking worse as they weren't fifteen and this wasn't a war and _shit,_ they were not meant to be in a kill or be killed situation. Not with each other. They'd been through too much, Duo had fought too much to bring Heero back to him, fought his damn feelings too many times and now they had admitted that they loved each other… it made it all seem like a knife to the gut.

The twisted thoughts that ran through Duo's head were halted as he heard the sound of the buzzer and the amphitheatre became silent in anticipation. He looked up to the clock to see the red numbers had started the countdown of the first round and he met Heero's eye and knew they had no damn choice. It was time to fight.


	20. Chapter 20

The infected wounds, huge and painful and sore, the dizziness, the hot fever rolling through him were nothing compared to the agonizing pain stabbing every damn organ in his body when he faced Duo in that cage. Duo looked miserable. Big, ugly bruising ran up his torso. His hair was greasy and clearly unkempt. His eyes held nothing but anguish and betrayal. His face sunken and abused. Heero never wanted to have to see him that way.

His eyes darted to where Milliardo stood outside the cage, feeling no anger any more, just weary resignation to the fact that this was fucking inevitable. It was always Milliardo's plan to sell them out – he was sure of it. Can't have Preventer sticking their nose into your illegal operation so get two operatives killed, turn it into a fucking embarrassment, have Milliardo give some kind of report, everyone gets a slap on the wrist because they don't want to admit they lost two men in an operation that should've been wrapped up six fucking months ago but was completely and utterly fucked. Of course Duo never really stood a chance, did he? Milliardo played them all from the very start.

He stared at the face of the man he loved as Kerrigan's voice rattled over the intercom and he felt crushed. Defeated. Devastated. Destroyed absolutely. There was no way out of this situation. He couldn't grab his hand, fight through this with him, kill every motherfucker here and make them rue the day they ever thought it might be fun to pit one human being against another. He couldn't. He noted the guns on the bodyguards, a rarity in this place. Noted the way they watched so intently, fingers brushing the grips, waiting to see if they'd make a move, waiting to see if they'd try to escape.

Fuck, they'd probably shoot Duo first if he made a wrong move. Force him to watch his heart bleed out on the mat, nothing to fucking do about it but watch him die. Fuck. _Fuck_.

There was only one good option and it was going to be damn difficult to convince Duo to do it. But it was the only acceptable option. He had to take the fall.

His life had been nothing but a disjointed set of circumstances that converged on pivotal points in history and until Duo it didn't really _mean_ anything. He had never cared for it, before, never had any sort of attachment to the experience – he saw the global benefit in achieving certain goals and therefore set out to accomplish them, but such actions does not a life make. And maybe that's why the lure of the bunker was so strong, maybe that's why it was so easy for paranoia to over take him in the absence of damn near anything to focus on – no mission, no war, no friend. But the fact of the matter was, he was still expendable. If he had to face death or a life without Duo, a life of madness and emptiness and loneliness, he clearly knew which option he would choose.

And Duo... Duo had always appreciated life. Maybe it was because he'd seen so much death, Heero didn't fucking know, but he knew how Duo smiled, he knew how Duo enjoyed shit, knew how he looked when he was happy – when he'd discovered Heero bought his favourite whiskey, when a song he liked came on at a bar, when he'd see him again for the first time in months and he'd try to hide it but he couldn't and that smile would start tugging at his lips... and Heero only ever wanted him to be happy. He damn didn't really want to think about it but if Duo could still smile like that, even if it was aimed at someone else, then Heero could be happy, too. He could die happy.

He heard the buzzer, watched as the guards with guns stood a little straighter, their hands gripping their weapons a little tighter in anticipation that they might have to use them. Heero wanted to shout at the crowd that this was damn ridiculous, that he couldn't kill a former comrade, let alone a lover. Didn't they see the cruelty in this? How could anyone enjoy something this fucked?

But as he stared at the men with the guns a plan began formulating in his mind and he watched Duo's eyes, pained though they were, harden as he approached a bit cautiously, before throwing an exploratory round kick.

Heero blocked swiftly, their eyes meeting again, a silent understanding that sometimes passed between them when sparring that they wouldn't go soft on one another – but just the simple act of blocking Duo's kick pulled at the scabs on Heero's torso and he worked not to let his weakness show. Didn't need Duo going easy on him. Needed him to try. Needed him to make it real. Sure as hell didn't want Duo to start thinking he had to be the one to take the fall here. Maybe Heero didn't really expect him to get out of this alive, but then any extra minute he could give his partner was one extra minute that Preventer might finally arrive. Had to give him a damn chance to get out of here.

Then Duo launched his offensive.

Heero tried damn hard not to let his partner see the ridiculously poor physical shape he was in – tried to keep his muscles from quivering against the exertion with the fever running hot through his body, tried not to let his knees buckle from the previous abuse he'd sustained, lack of subsistence, lack of care.

Heero blocked the second kick, fell back and managed to remain standing against Duo's attempt to take out his legs, pushed back punch after punch with his forearms until his feet had slid so far back he was pressed against the mesh and Duo finally got a punch in, straight to his stomach and he gasped for breath as he felt his lungs collapse against the force, his scabs split and crack where Duo's fist met them. But he also felt Duo get close in that moment, unnecessarily close, and he brushed his cheek lovingly against Heero's for the smallest of seconds, let his nose drag across it to his lips as he pulled away. Heero stared into his eyes as he fought to regain the ability to breath – his heart was all scar tissue but it could still hurt, still feel, and with just one look, Duo ripped it to shreds once again.

He noted the surprise as he brought his arms up around his shoulder, drawing him in close, in any other circumstance maybe he would kiss him, press him against his body, drag his fingers into his flesh and bite his neck and hold him down and fuck him. Feel that body so warm and visceral move underneath his, grind against him, fill his emptiness with want and passion and lust. Fill him up a love he'd never felt before, a heavy weight upon his heart that was no burden to him.

And he was a little pleased it seemed Duo wanted that to be his intent as the charade had to go on a little bit longer. Had to make sure Duo wouldn't suspect his true motive, his real plan. Had to lull him into a false sense of security.

But he pressed their cheeks together once more, holding Duo's shoulders down and kneeing him straight in the stomach.

It certainly wasn't the hardest damn hit he could throw – but it was the hardest hit he could throw in his current condition. Duo seemed appropriately surprised and tried to reel back from the attack, but Heero kept him close and threw another knee – selfishly holding on to every moment he could have Duo in his arms, knowing that each moment would be his last and that even if he had to buffet him with hits, it was still worth it just to hold him one last fucking time.

It would never be enough, was never enough, but Duo offered him only what he could give and Heero was used to it, used to the frequency of his denial – so to him, he could make this moment enough. He'd spent so long making every little moment he got to be with Duo enough.

He stroked a trembling hand up Duo's cheek, fingers brushing the hair back from his face even as his knee connected one more time with the soft flesh of Duo's belly.

"'Ro," Duo breathed out, barely a whisper as Heero's palm pressed roughly against his cheek, fingers burying in his hair, his other hand stroking across his shoulder, down his neck, down to his chest where he pushed him away, trying to create physical distance again, give himself the ability to get out of the mesh. It was maybe the hardest damn thing he'd ever had to do – but it was just a precursor.

Duo let him move away, seeming shell-shocked from the unexpected touch as he fought to regain composure, tracking him around the cage, breath coming in ragged pants. Heero was distantly aware that he was dripping blood down his legs and onto the mat but it didn't matter. There'd be a lot more damn blood by the time this was over.

Heero found it strange the buzzer hadn't called the end of a round yet – but then he figured, why the fuck did they need rounds, right? There could only be one end, one outcome. Why prolong the inevitable?

Duo seemed to find his resolve again and he swung hard at Heero's head. Heero caught his fist just barely and threw it down, returning his own punch and he was shocked when Duo didn't block, letting it impact with his jaw. Instantaneous guilt rocked through him as he watched in slow motion as Duo's lips cracked, blood slicking his chin, head jerking roughly to the side. What the _fuck_ was he doing? It wasn't a particularly well thrown or hard punch, even, he could have so fucking _easily_ blocked it!

His busted lips were curled up in a smile when he turned back to face Heero, and Heero knew he wouldn't fight back, wouldn't block, was probably just trying to goad him into attacking this whole fucking time. It made him nauseous to think Duo actually though Heero could _kill_ him. That he somehow _deserved_ that.

He held out his hands, twitching them forward in the same damn "come hither" motion Heero employed in his own fighting but he felt cemented to the ground. Couldn't fucking move even if he wanted to. Duo chuckled darkly.

"Don't make this harder then it damn has to be," he taunted but Heero shook his head. He didn't _fucking_ understand. What was he supposed to _do_ without him? He couldn't live each day knowing he destroyed something he loved so dearly with his own hands – _fuck_. Didn't Duo understand that? Didn't Duo know it was better his way? Duo saw how he got when he was isolated, Duo saw him in that fucking bunker...! He was too damaged, too broken – not worth the life he'd been endowed with. Certainly not anywhere near worth Duo's attempted sacrifice.

"Come _on_!" Duo practically screamed, practically begged, and Heero felt like his chest was going to collapse. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think at all. The plan – had to follow the fucking plan. But Duo's eyes – his heart was breaking and Heero could see it all there in his eyes. What was he supposed to do? What the _fuck_ was he supposed to do?!

"I don't want you!" Duo tried, his words a desperate yell, pelting against Heero even as he tried to rebuke them as the pathetic attempt they were to rattle him into action. "I don't fucking _want_ you, you bastard!" His voice took on an eerie, unnatural pitch and his words wavered terribly with each additional torment. "Don't you fucking get it? I hate you! I fucking _hate_ you!"

Despite knowing they were lies, Heero didn't want those to be the last fucking words Duo ever said to him and he felt his heart wither at the thought. Every moment, every tender moment shared between them reduced to dust with those smouldering eyes glowering at him, begging him for death as he made a mockery of everything they were.

But he would never let him go that easy. It was time to return the favour Duo offered all those years ago with an outstretched hand and open arms, wrapping him in the soft protection of his sympathy and understanding. There was nothing Heero could possibly offer until this very moment that came close to what Duo had given him then. A chance at life, a chance a love, a chance at happiness. Nothing that had ever been offered to him in his whole pathetic fucking life and Duo offered it so easily. Maybe they never really got the opportunity to experience it fully, maybe Duo always ran and maybe Heero was just too damn hard to love, but it was more than he deserved. More than he thought he could ever give Duo in return.

Now, in this moment, Heero knew it was time. A life for a life. Duo offered him back his life in that gentle moment of compassion – it was time he returned the favour.

Quickly he crossed the distance between them, Duo's expression one of triumph as Heero kicked his legs out from under him, Duo's body hitting the mat with a heavy thud. Immediately he fell on top of Duo's prone form, covering his torso completely with his own crouched body, arms embracing his head, protecting him, foreheads pressed together, heavy breath mingling, fear and confusion washing off of Duo in waves.

"What do you want me to do?" Heero whispered pathetically, voice cracking on the words, tears threatening to fall into Duo's wide eyes as he stared up at him. Heero closed his own, unable to allow himself to falter for one more chance to stare into those too often absent eyes.

"I – I can't..." he mumbled out miserably, feeling tears finally break through his tightly sealed eyes. "I _love_ you."

His body shook rebelliously as he pressed a heated kiss to Duo's lips, fingers curling in his hair, forcing his partner into shocked stillness – picturing foolishly on the back of his eyelids how beautiful he looked laid back against plush white pillows, sun highlighting his hair, easy smile splitting his face as Heero's lips leaned down to capture his own – and he trembled as waited for the bullets to hit his body as punishment for his rebellion.


	21. Chapter 21

Each touch was pure torture on Duo's heated skin. Not those that were intended to hurt, not those that were meant to cause physical damage, as Duo could deal with those. Pain, physical pain was easy as shit to deal with – it was something that he'd dealt with his entire life – but the touches that said more – brief, fleeting, that brought with them the images in his head of so many times long gone were an agony he'd never felt before.

They made him remember, laughing in white sheets, feeling Heero's body pin him to a bed in Sanc and running his fingers through his unruly hair, leaning upwards to kiss him hard and using the moment of distraction to reverse their positions. Heero would blink up at him with those blue eyes, those blue eyes that could be harder than stone gazing up at up at him in some kind of momentary surprise before Duo would run his tongue over every available inch of skin. His body echoed with every touch, every moment – the stupid fucking school, young and inexperienced but with plenty of enthusiasm, the desperate moments aboard Peacemillion, the first time after the bunker when Heero was so unsure and needy… the first time on this goddamn colony, rough and impatient, and then Heero underneath him, vulnerable after Wade.

Those fingers that dragged over his skin, so hot that they felt like they left abrasions, were harder to deal with than the knees to his stomach. Harder than the punch to the face and feeling the blood run down his chin, his barely healed lips splitting under the pressure of Heero's fist.

He tried the smirk, that damn expression he'd used a million times before, the look he'd given his enemies as they'd exploded in front of him or when he'd seen a body crumple in front of him, a bullet impacting and leaving a crimson haze in its wake, but it was forced as much as the words he choked out.

This was the way he had to try. Try to unleash some of the anger that resided underneath the surface of Heero's calm exterior – that underneath, Duo knew the man, no, the boy who would want to lash out in the only ways he knew how. Each of his words were hollow and damn unconvincing and fuck, he did not lie but he _tried,_ as Heero had to get out. Heero had to fucking live.

"I don't want you."

He was sure that the words didn't work even as he registered the hint of pain on Heero's face – that these could be their last words – not the "I love you" of the toilet stalls – but even then Duo couldn't make those words convincing. There was no one else he'd ever wanted – ever needed. No one else who had made his wreck of a life worth damn living, no one he'd ever wanted to return to despite how many times he'd walked away. Yeah, no one made his heart damn ache. Duo never thought he'd be this way – the survivor. Never thought that it'd be him at the end of the world – Duo Maxwell and the fucking rats and cockroaches but he'd sacrifice anything for the man in front of him. The man he loved.

"I _fucking_ hate you," he said, each syllable ripping his throat to shreds.

Heero had to kill him. Duo had to give him the damn reason – make him think it meant nothing – confirm everything Heero thought about himself. That he was nothing more than the damaged broken soldier boy in his bunker and to Duo he was nothing more than a convenient and easy fuck. Yet his words faltered through his bloody lips and he hated himself for saying them – even as his eyes looked through the mesh, realising _this,_ their fucked up relationship had become sport and he glanced back to Heero to see he was not as steady on his feet as he should be, blood dripping from his stomach down his leg and to the mat.

Heero wanted his hate after Wade. Duo couldn't give it to him and neither could he now. Yet he damn hoped those words had worked as Heero made those steps across the mat and he found himself on the floor and despite the fact that Heero was in pretty bad shape he was sure that he could still snap his neck if he wanted. Those years of dedicated training, the lonely boy raised in extreme violence could resurface and Heero could do what he needed to do. But Heero did something more painful than the bliss of death and blackness. He felt lips, warm and chapped against his own, bloody and numbing.

The kiss startled him, the pressure on his lips so out of place and the fingers in his hair so forceful and needy. It took a second to register that Heero had made the decision for them both – that they couldn't do it, neither of them could. Heero couldn't kill him as much as Duo couldn't… that if they both bled out on the mat in the cage then it was better than living forever with the blood of the man that you loved on your hands.

And Duo closed his eyes tight shut, feeling droplets of something on his face descending from Heero – it could've been blood, sweat or even damn tears but he didn't need to know. If this was their last moment, if bullets were going to be fired, then fuck, Duo never wanted anything else. And maybe Heero was trying one more attempt to protect him or save him or value his life above his own – his steady weight on top on him. He wanted to say that it wouldn't work, that when the bullets came there would be so many that it wouldn't matter that Heero's body was in between them but fuck, if Heero wanted their last moment to be like this then Duo wouldn't say shit – only hold on tight to the hair at the back of his head and run his fingers down that body he'd fucked, adored, admired, worshipped – loved – and waited for the inevitable hail of bullets.

The bullets didn't come. Maybe there was some rushing in his ears, maybe after all the deprivation in Kerrigan's fucking cell, his senses were dulled but he couldn't hear the sound of the buzzer or the crowd or anything. It perhaps was the moment before death, he figured, people said that your life passed before your eyes the moment before you died. Duo didn't see his life, fucking glad he didn't, but maybe there was just this moment of peace in realising that there was nothing else to be damn done.

He wondered if this was how the thousands of men he'd killed felt. Yet the moment of peace didn't last – the sudden sound of bullets and shouting around them and it was then he finally opened his eyes, their lips parting and he looked up at Heero.

"'Ro?"

The look in Heero's eyes was just as confused, the slight hint of puzzlement at why they weren't dead for the act of rebellion but it became clear as Duo turned his head to look towards the mesh and the expected gunfire rattled and ricocheted around the metallic amphitheatre.

The rich men tried to run – not that there would be anywhere to run on this colony. They'd have their shuttles but then they had the black clad forms of the Preventer extraction team who would be blocking all their exits and there would be no damn escape. Kerrigan's men let off a few half-hearted rounds, a few went down but most made the sensible damn decision of surrendering as it was clear even from the vantage point of the floor of the cage that there were a _lot_ of fucking Preventer agents.

"You got the message out," Duo said slowly, his gaze returning to Heero's.

"I tried to stop this…" Heero stated, his words faltering and he stopped.

 _This._ This fight. This fucked up situation where they'd had to hurt the only person they gave a shit about in the whole goddamn earth sphere. Duo's hand reached up, his fingers trembling for some fucking reason and he brushed away the dark bangs from Heero's eyes.

"I didn't mean… I just couldn't, yanno…"

Heero nodded and it was all that Duo needed. He could've said that he never meant to say that he hated him, that he didn't want him but then just looking up at him, after that kiss… well, Heero knew he'd never meant it. And it was not the time to be delving into emotional shit as the sound of shouted orders reverberated and then there was sudden movement around them.

They were both pulled to their feet, battle weary and bloody, separated by the last of Kerrigan's men. Duo felt the butt of a gun against his head, dazing him, and he fell to his knees, the mat damp with crimson underneath his skin and he looked over to Heero standing with Kerrigan, the gun pointed at his head, the barrel pressed against his forehead.

Kerrigan was a man without anything to lose now. Duo eyes met Heero's who only shook his head imperceptibly. A small gesture. Don't try anything fucking stupid. Not that Duo could – the distance too great and the gun pressed too tight against Heero's temple. That if Duo made one move, he'd watch Heero brains decorate the cage just as a hundred other men's blood had stained it. Kerrigan had nothing now – his operation gone, his colony and his world disintegrating – so he could just blow someone's brains out for the fucking hell of it.

"I shoot him if you try anything. You know I will," Kerrigan said, not bothering to veil the threat. It was directed to anyone in the general vicinity – to Duo, to the Preventer extraction team outside the cage – and he used Heero's body as a shield from the bullets of the black clad agents.

"You don't want to shoot him."

Duo turned his head in the direction of a Preventer agent, now removing the helmet and he'd recognised the damn voice but it had been so damn long since he'd seen that person – a gym at Preventer HQ, saying goodbye with a casual shrug and not knowing when he'd see him again – and it took a moment of recognition to place that voice after over a year.

Wufei looked calmly at Kerrigan. He signalled the agents to lower their weapons with only the tiniest motion of his hand as he looked through the mesh at the man who had controlled this operation for years only for it now to be crumbling in front of him.

"You don't want me to kill one of your own in front of your eyes."

"No, I don't," Wufei said coolly. "However, I believe you underestimate who you are dealing with."

There had been a moment of silent communication that had bypassed Kerrigan, his guards and the other Preventer agents as Heero pushed his elbow hard into the flesh of Kerrigan's stomach and he hit the mat as a round of bullets fired through the mesh of the cage, one perfect round entering Kerrigan's head. For a second, Duo just watched Kerrigan stand there, his face blank and unreadable, that man who had caused so much damn pain – remembered the bruising on MJ's damn arms, remembered seeing the guy beaten to death in front of his eyes, remembered his cool gaze over the fight that Wade was never meant to win. And then he fell, crumpled, the bullet from Wufei's gun precise, accurate despite the mesh in between.

With Kerrigan gone, the final few guards realised the uselessness of the situation. Kerrigan's men had always been of the less than intelligent variety – men who took orders – and without a leader did not know the correct response. Surrendering became their one damn option, Preventer agents entering the cage to dispose of weapons and clip cuffs around wrists. Duo crawled over to where Heero had landed as he had not immediately gotten to his feet. Instead, he had only risen to a kneeling position, his hand over his torso where the wound seemed to have ripped even more in the moment of exertion.

"You're hurt," he said, looking at the wound, open and bleeding. It looked damn deep and he could see that maybe there was a paleness to Heero's skin that was unusual and there was a damn lot of blood on the mat.

"It's nothing."

"You ain't fucking superman, yanno," he muttered under his breath and his level of weakness became apparent when Heero allowed for Duo help him to his feet and to lift his arm around his body, placing it around his shoulders like he'd done when they were fifteen, using his own body to support Heero's.

He must've lost a lot of blood – the wound sure as hell did not look right – infected maybe as Heero leaned a lot of his body weight against Duo, his skin hot, feverish and clammy against his own as they exited the cage, blue eyes looking back to see Kerrigan on the floor of the mat. It seemed oddly poetic. The man who had made a spectacle of death in his own damn cage.

Once outside, Wufei stood, looking at them with more than passing concern. Duo figured they must've really looked like shit for a frown to form on that usually so emotionless face.

"You both need the med team," he stated.

"And hello to you – took your damn time an' all."

"It was only after the last transmission that it became apparent we were needed."

"Yeah, well, fuck you picked your damn moment, 'Fei. All I can say…"

"Did you get Peacecraft?" Heero asked bluntly although his voice was not as contained and controlled – the hatred subtle but audible.

Wufei's face lost some of its composure at the question. "Peacecraft?"

"Yeah, Milliardo fucking Peacecraft set us up," Duo explained, his eyes flicking to Heero whose breathing seem laboured. "Don't tell me you missed the slimy bastard? He was fucking here."

"You're sure?"

"Jesus, 'Fei, don't question this shit – he was playing us the whole damn time like some fucking puppet master –"

His sentence stopped midway through, the rant to explain the whole damn labyrinth of shit they'd waded through during this time on this abandoned colony stopped by the sudden feeling of Heero slumping against him and he had a moment's notice before he realised quite what the fuck was happening. That Heero was always so damn strong, steady and even when he'd goddamn jumped from that hospital he'd been able to walk with only a small amount of support. This was the guy who'd damn self-destructed. And yeah, Duo made those superman comments still, some kind of private joke – that Heero was always going to be superhuman and utterly infallible. That he still was the genetically enhanced superstar so that when he felt his falter, Heero stumble backwards and fall against him – hot, burning, fucking _hot_ – it felt damn _wrong._ Then he was slipping towards the metallic floor of the amphitheatre and Duo was supporting his descent, realising that he was going down whatever he did.

He could hear the commotion around him, hear the world that had continued moving as he reached down for fingers, twining them together, and he saw convulsions, eyes rolling back into his skull and the blood continue to pour from the wound, and it was _too_ fucking like Heero for him not to admit he needed emergency medical attention, to stand up when he should be on the ground, to fight to some unknown damn end.

"Not now, you fucking asshole." Not now. Now when they were meant to be going home – whatever the fuck 'home' meant. He felt Heero's hand loosening around his own, his fingers sliding down that signalled he was losing damn consciousness. "Don't fucking leave me…"

Not after everything. Not after the shit storm of an undercover op. Not after whispered "I love you's" in a dirty bathroom. Not after the bloody kiss in the fucking cage. He felt a hand on his shoulder, the pressure encouraging him to move but Duo couldn't walk away, couldn't give the medical evac team the necessary space even as he was being told to get out of the way so that they could do their job. He felt Heero's hand descend towards the floor, no longer able to grip, limp and lifeless and he was being told that they needed room and that maybe he wasn't breathing…

The pressure exerted on his shoulders increased, the force of someone pulling him to his feet so that the mask could be put over Heero's mouth… so that the defibrillation machine could be applied to a chest that was clearly not rising and falling. A chest that Duo had rested his head on, warm and solid, and tangible…

"Duo…"

He heard the voice, calm and trying to reason with him – knowing it was Wufei and it was Wufei's hand on his shoulder. He didn't turn towards him, he stepped back, allowing the medics the space but his eyes didn't leave Heero as he pleaded with a god that he didn't believe in, to karma that he'd probably fucked over a thousand damn times in a life of killing people and to whatever deity may listen to a worthless kid from L2 that Heero would goddamn _breathe_. That he would goddamn _live._ That he was so damn unsure if he could live in a world without that slight quirk of lips that was a smile, those blue eyes he could fucking drown in, a world without calloused hands and a scarred body. A world that Heero didn't damn exist in.

"Stay with me," Duo whispered, his voice barely audible, eyes glazing over as he watched the med team send shocks of electricity through a prone body. It was pleading, it was something, a prayer – fucking worthless. He promised silently to never damn walk away, to never leave in the dead of the night with a casual wave and a wink, never to run, never to hide in his own fucked up version of Heero's bunker if he damn lived.

"Stay with me, 'Ro… I fucking _love_ you."


	22. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! It's ELLE. Congratulations! We finally made it! ;-P Big BIG thanks to everyone who stuck by this "little" experiment and offered your thoughts and encouragement as we cut our chops on this joint venture. :D And BIG thanks obviously to Miss M who not only humored me by agreeing to this nonsense but then carried the plot through most of this sucker haha! Next time I will try to pull my weight a little better. ;-P (Wait, next time you ask? Well, this was such a fun experience we may just have to do it again... but you'll have to wait and see... hehe.)

The gentle whir of the tattoo gun over his skin, needles dragging through his flesh almost felt rhythmic, almost soothing now at this, his third sitting. Duo sat next to him as always, yawned, stretched out his arms and then threw them back in his lap. Heero watched, met his gaze, saw the restlessness there – but also there was something else, now. Patience. Dedication. Heero promised him silently that he would repay that in kind.

"You sure you don't feel anything, huh?" Duo asked sceptically with one raised brow. Heero glanced back down at his chest, watching the quick strokes of shading he barely felt, and turned back to Duo.

"No."

"Shit, I got how many and each one of them damn hurt," he grouched, stared off at the distance, didn't say anything. Heero wondered if he was thinking about some of them, what they were like when he got them, what they meant then – but he never said and Heero never asked. Some things never changed.

But then Duo turned back to him, smiled, stroked the back of his fingers against Heero's cheek for a moment.

"My superman," he murmured, eyes kind, affectionate. Heero held out a hand. Duo reached back for it, twined their fingers together.

It made Heero think back to the hospital – how he had woken up to those sterile white walls so unexpectedly. Hardly remembered how he ended up there, heavy sedation fogging his brain, but it didn't matter because Duo was there, holding his hand, waiting for him. They didn't say anything to one another for a long time, just stared, knowing everything was different now, unsure of how to proceed without the stress and desperation of the mission, without life and death, left with just the ordinary day to day bullshit they were forced to wade through just like everybody else.

"Bad damn infection," he started and Heero blinked impassively.

"Yeah." He paused, voice scratchy and Duo offered him water which he accepted through a straw. "How long have I been out?"

"They put you in a medically induced coma so you'd rest. Three days."

Heero scowled but didn't say anything, fairly certain that Duo was the one who recommended that course of action but then he was the one who put Duo down on his next of kin forms so he really had no one to blame but himself. Still wasn't happy about it though, but there was no use being mad now. Duo must've realized it and changed the subject.

"Got Kerrigan – remember?"

Heero nodded slightly. "Peacecraft?"

Duo frowned. "Wufei's got him tracked down to a leftover piece of satellite colony outside L5."

Heero guessed Milliardo was hoping Kerrigan would get a shot off to finish them and he'd be able to take back over after the Preventer extraction team left. At least Heero could rest content with the realization that even if they didn't ever bring Milliardo to justice, Duo and he lived long enough to destroy his credibility and he wouldn't have be able to recreate Kerrigan's empire. He'd be forced back to Mars where Noin might take him back or forced into the life of a fugitive.

Duo chuckled. "Relena's fucking pissed."

Heero couldn't help but smirk. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, something about black sheep, letting him back into the fold, I don't even fucking know. Sure she'll tell you all about it when she comes to visit." Duo's hand tightened around his. "MJ has already made an official statement to Preventer."

Heero was genuinely surprised. "Thought she was one of Peacecraft's."

"Nah, 'parently not." Duo shrugged. "Guess she was on her own side in the end." Duo stood then, refusing to drop his hand. "Probably should get a nurse." But he leaned over and kissed him instead.

The kiss was gentle, affirmative, no lust or need or desperation in it, just simple affection. And when Duo eventually dropped his hand, Heero let it wander to the hem of his shirt, stroking up underneath where he knew the eagle resided on Duo's side. But Duo grabbed his wrist tight, drawing his hand away.

"You're in no condition," he warned carefully and Heero couldn't hide his amusement.

Things really must be different between them if Duo was telling him he was in condition to fuck and didn't offer even once to break him out of this place. He resisted the urge to tease him about going soft – knew this was Duo's attempt at domestic, or as close to it as he could damn get.

"I want one," Heero explained instead and Duo's eyes narrowed curiously.

"What?"

"I want one," he repeated. "A tattoo."

Duo laughed, shook his head, and wandered to the door. "Yeah, we'll see. But first, I'm gonna get a nurse."

The week after he'd been released they found a tattoo shop Heero liked and he went in for his first sitting, the winding snake that stretched across his chest in a series of loops first taking shape on his skin. He placed it there on his chest so that he could always see it, covering his heart, reminding him to live and breathe and _feel_ , to allow himself that tenderness.

"What's it mean?" Duo asked when they got back, buried in his flesh, tracing his fingers around the swollen skin but careful not to disturb the plastic covering.

Heero wondered for a moment what Duo thought of his body now, huge scabs on his torso turning into scars, the scabs on the sliced up mess of his inner arm already flaked off. But Duo never seemed to care what he looked like – only ever wanted him. And as that was all Heero ever wanted, he never bothered to ask.

Instead of replying, Heero stroked up Duo's side, across eagle talons and feathers as Duo moved slowly in and out of him, taking his time, feeling every damn inch of him. "It's an answer."

Duo paused, snorted. "To what? It's just an eagle."

Heero didn't believe him but he let him keep up the charade if he wanted too. Duo promised him in that hospital room he wouldn't run any more, but that didn't mean Heero had to take away every place he had to hide. "Then it's just a snake."

But that wasn't quite true and they both knew it although nothing more was said. If Duo was the eagle, than Heero was the snake. The eagle might try to overpower the snake, snatching it in its talons, but the snake could twist back, could trap the eagle in its coils and hold on tight, never allowing the eagle to let go. And Duo had snared him, drew him up into the sky, showed him a world he didn't even know existed and he was never going to let go. Heero would go down fighting for him.

"Fuck, can you turn this shit off?" Duo asked as he glared up at that TV in the tattoo parlour and the artist looked at him with hesitation.

"I'm almost done," he said as he began cleaning up his work.

"Fine, fine," Duo muttered and sighed grandiosely, crossing his arms over his chest as the TV news anchor rambled on about the apprehension of Milliardo Peacecraft three days ago; playing the same damn clip of Relena repudiating his actions, distancing herself from her brother, stating his involvement in the war as reason for his mental instability; discussing with clinical coolness the military tribunal he would face, the accusations levied against him by members of the ESUN, completely glossing over the heinous accusations levied against _them_.

Heero understood why Duo was damn tired of hearing about it. Despite everything, despite their success, despite the fact that Milliardo would be brought to justice – no one knew about Wade. No one knew about all the men who died at the hands of the rich and powerful, who were manipulated or lost or too fucked up with too little help after the war to do anything but continue to fight. And it was sad and a little sick that they were the only ones who would really know the truth.

"Finished," the artist announced and he appraised the piece before wrapping it up. Heero slipped on a loose button up and buttoned it to his chest, letting it hang open at the top and Duo chuckled at the sight of it, just as he did after the first two sittings.

"Ready to go home?"

Heero didn't miss the way his voice twisted on the word, just a little bit of resentment slipping through.

"Yeah. I got something for you." But that piqued Duo's interest and Heero could tell he was trying hard not to badger it out of him the whole ride home – instead resolving to be uncommonly silent, irking Heero more than had he babbled incessantly.

They walked into Heero's apartment and Duo's eyes followed him all the way to his office and back, where he handed Duo an envelope with a thick stack of papers inside. He watched as Duo slid the papers out carefully, eyes studying the cover page and staring up at him in shock.

"Is this...?"

"Right. My official resignation from Preventer."

Duo whistled low and long as his eyes fell back to the papers in his hand. "Damn." He flipped through the pages a moment before carefully putting them back in the envelope. "But what's that have to do with me?"

Heero took the envelope back and set it on the table behind Duo, standing close, slipping a hand in his back pocket and pulling him forward into a short, meaningful kiss.

"It gives _you_ the option," Heero stated simply, nose brushing across Duo's before he pulled back to look him in the eyes. Duo looked nervous, hesitant, unsure exactly what it was Heero meant. "If you want to stay with Preventer, I can take a private position in Relena's employ and stay here in Sanc – it would be like nothing changed. If you want to quit Preventer, we can go anywhere, do anything. Start a business, go work with Hilde on L2. Whatever you want. There's some lucrative government contracts up for bid on salvaging mobile suit parts in remote places like Antarctica."

Heero paused, assessed Duo who was quiet, brows furrowed in confusion and, Heero dared hope, appreciation.

"'Ro..." Duo breathed out quietly, head tilting to the side a bit to study him critically. "You'd do that? For me?"

Heero nodded solemnly. "I can't ask to tie you down – just want to be with you."

Duo swallowed hard, fingers finding Heero's face, brushing bangs away from his eyes with a gentle caress. "I want you with me," he confirmed, voice as serious as he'd ever heard it. "Always."

Their lips met again and Heero knew that home was wherever those lips were, wherever Duo was there to hold him. He could only hope that he could offer the same home to Duo for as long as they both drew breath.


End file.
